by Kate Lattey
“You okay?”
My face is bright red and I’m out of breath. I know my knees are shaking, my shoulders ache and my fingers are getting blistered. I don’t want to admit defeat though, and keeping my reins short and tight, I feign calmness. “Fine thanks.”
“He get away on you Jay?” Pip asks concernedly, sharing a quick doubtful look with her brother. I can feel my heart sink. Sliding from Trixie’s back, Pip leads her pony towards me. I sigh and kick my feet free of the stirrups, preparing to dismount.
Pip hesitates. “Are you…do you not want to ride him?”
Yet again, I’ve gotten it wrong. I sit back up straight, and try to fumble my way out of it. “No, I just…I thought you were going to make me swap.”
Pippa laughs. “You’re not doing that badly! He’s a little tank. I just got off to tighten his curb chain.” And she quickly slides it up a notch.
Alec, on the other hand, seems to have some scepticism. “You scared?” he asks bluntly.
“Course not!” I retort, shaking my head. I give Snoopy a pat and settle myself into the saddle.
“Good, then let’s go.” Pip’s back on Trixie, and Alec leads on again. Pip motions to me to go next, and Snoopy bounds along enthusiastically as I struggle to keep him back off Jess’s twitchy hindquarters. Alec looks over his shoulder at me.
“Don’t keep on pulling at him, he’ll just pull against you, and he’s stronger. Give him a short strong pull, then release slightly. Pull and release.” I frown and he grins at me. “Trust me.”
I give it a shot and for a wonder, it works. After a few good strong pulls, Snoopy resigns himself to being stuck behind Jess. We trot across the paddock, pass through another gate and send the ponies into a steady canter along a narrow sheep track that winds its way up the hill. Unable to pass on the narrow track, Snoopy settles into his stride and I’m finally able to relax and enjoy the ride. His strides eat up the ground beneath him, and despite the dust that heels are kicking up into my face, I start to smile. For the first time since I’ve arrived in New Zealand, something feels right.
CHAPTER FIVE
The first day of school dawns misty and grey. There is one thing to be said for uniforms, I think to myself as I put it on. At least I’ll be dressed the same as everyone else, not sticking out like a sore thumb the way I seem to have so far. I add a touch of mascara and some lip gloss, unsure about the school’s policy on makeup, and head downstairs as Dad calls me for the third time.
There’s a local school bus, but Dad has offered to drive me on my first day so I can arrive early to register. We drive the twenty minutes in total silence before pulling up outside the school gates. I get out of the car quickly, before he can think about escorting me in as though I’m six years old.
“I finish work at five, so I’ll see you at home around five-thirty,” he calls after me. “Get a bus pass at the school office, I’ll give you the money for it tomorrow. Have a good day.”
I walk up the concrete path towards the school. The whole thing is on one level, with identical red-brick buildings scattered helter-skelter around me. How I’m going to find my way around this place I have no idea. I can’t see any signs on any of the buildings to tell me where I am supposed to be going, and I stop in the middle of the quad and stare blankly around myself. After a moment I notice a small blue sign that says ADMINISTRATION on the side of one of the buildings, so I walk towards it. Next to the building is a big muddy duck pond with about thirty ducks swimming and waddling around it, quacking at each other and pooping everywhere. Nice. Very sanitary.
I walk into the office and find the Secretary. She gives me a bunch of forms to fill out and hands over the bus pass without batting an eyelid. I sit down at a table and look over the curriculum. All the usual core subjects, plus I get to pick three electives. I’m not required to take a foreign language here, which is a relief because despite three years of compulsory French classes at my last school, I’m still totally useless at it. Instead I sign up for Computer Science (should be easy) and Media Studies (hopefully just watching movies in class), then sit a moment longer, clicking my pen and debating between Art, Woodwork and Cooking. Since Dad hasn’t exactly turned out to be a master chef, Cooking is probably the most practical choice. I can’t draw to save myself, and Woodwork is a total boy subject. I tick the Cooking box and hand the forms back in, then wait for another ten minutes while she inputs the data and prints off a timetable. Finally she gives me directions to my homeroom and tells me to come back when the bell rings to meet with the Principal before I go to my first class. So when I do finally get to class, I’ll be walking in late and alone. That won’t be embarrassing at all. In the meantime though, I have to try and find room B-4, so I walk back outside and try to remember what she just said.
Go left, turn right at A Block, up the covered walkway and it’s the second room on the left. There are students everywhere now, and we are all dressed in the same uniform, but somehow I still feel conspicuous, and the sidelong glances I’m getting from some students make me feel even more so. The kids here wear their uniforms with a purposeful shabbiness that would never have been tolerated at my school back home. If your shirt wasn’t ironed, or you had a run in your stocking, it had to be fixed immediately. As I walk I notice that some kids have torn thumbholes in their long sleeves, several of the girls’ skirt hems are sagging, and most of the boys wear their socks drooped around their ankles. I feel self-conscious and out of place in my brand new uniform - skirt neatly ironed, sleeves folded back at the cuff, knee socks pulled up and shoes polished. Even dressed the same as everyone else, I’ve managed to get it completely wrong. Fortunately I manage to find B-4 without getting lost, and walk into a noisy room of students.
There must be about thirty students in the class, boys and girls mixed, talking and laughing and throwing things at each other. Half of the students are sitting on their desks, which have ugly reddish-brown Formica tops and spindly metal legs. I slide the registration slip that the office gave me onto the empty teacher’s desk at the front of the room and sit down at a nearby desk, which wobbles horribly when I lean on it. A couple of people are staring at me, but I try to ignore them. Then the teacher walks in and tells everyone to take a seat and be quiet.
She introduces herself as Mrs Cahillane, and starts calling roll. She seems to know most of the kids already, barely glancing up as they respond with “Here” or “Yep” in response to their names, rather than “Present”, which is what I’ve always been made to say. I’m making a mental note to not respond with that when she picks up my slip of paper.
“Jillian Evans?”
I sigh and raise my hand. “Here.” My face is burning, but I have to do this now or suffer through being called Jillian all year. “And it’s Jay.”
“I’m sorry?”
What is she, deaf? My face goes redder as I explain clearly. “Everyone calls me Jay.”
“Oh, right.” She looks at the form again, and nods. “Welcome to Ratanui College, Jay.”
I’m not quite sure how to respond to that. “Uh, thanks,” I mumble. Someone near me giggles. The teacher glances around the room.
“Does anyone want to take Jay under their wing today and show her around, make sure she can find her classes okay?”
To my relief, a hand shoots into the air and waves hard. “I’ll do it Miss. I already know Jay.”
The teacher is happy to accept that. “Perfect, thank you Amy.”
Amy is beaming at me from her seat a few desks away, her hair now a darker blonde and devoid of any pink. Apparently she hasn’t jumped on the Jay-hating bandwagon, so that’s a plus I suppose. There’s no sign of Alec in my class, but thankfully Natalie isn’t present either. Once the teacher is done with the roster, she reads off a list of the school’s rules and regulations and hands out printed copies of them, which strikes me as a ridiculous waste of paper, given that no-one is going to bother to read them anyway. Several students are already folding them into paper plan
es, or writing notes to each other on the back.
When the bell rings, Amy comes rushing over to me. “Hi Jay. How’s it going? Let’s see your timetable.”
I hand it over and she studies it briefly. “Cool, we have Computing together too. English is first up today and we have Mr Vaughan, so we’ve got to go to E Block. E for English! Easy to remember,” she chirps, and I smile weakly.
“I have to go to the office,” I explain. “And meet the Principal.”
“Oh.” Amy seems surprised. “All right, well then let’s go that way. I’ll point out E Block so you can find it when you’re done with Ms Staite. She’s the woman in charge of this place.”
She chatters on and on at top speed, as per usual, telling me about how Spud’s hock is slowly healing and how long it took her to get the pink out of her hair on Saturday, but makes no comment about her sister’s rudeness. We soon arrive back at the Administration building and she points to a clump of buildings to the right.
“See that one in the middle? That’s E-Block. See you again soon!”
The bell rings and she dashes off with a quick parting wave before I can tell her that there are two buildings in the middle and I have no idea which one she’s pointing at. With a resigned shrug, I go back into the building and the Secretary directs me to a plastic chair outside a door marked PRINCIPAL. I sit down next to a skinny boy with glasses reading a thick book with some kind of spaceship on the cover, and a short Indian-looking girl with long black hair and bright orange nail polish. She looks at me and grins.
“I know you.”
I shake my head, figuring she must be mistaking me for someone else. “I’m new.”
“I know, but you live in the Bay. I live there too. Just down the road from the McLeods. You know them, right?” I nod hesitantly, and she grins, showing a row of perfect white teeth. “I’ve heard all about you.”
“Great,” I mutter sarcastically.
She laughs and chatters on. “Don’t worry, nobody pays any attention to what Natalie says. Nobody with sense anyway. You’ll have to come see my pony sometime. His name’s Nugget. He’s an amazing jumper. Do you jump?”
I nod, wondering whether there’s anyone who lives in Clearwater Bay who doesn’t want me to go ride their pony.
“Oh good. You’re getting a pony, right? Have you found one yet?” I shake my head, and she seems pleased. “Good. I can help you look. I know lots of good ponies. Don’t let my mum try and help you, whatever you do. She’ll want to, she wants to interfere in everyone’s lives. But she only likes fancy show ponies, useless things that can hardly jump. She hates my pony because he’s not finely-bred and prissy looking like my sister’s pony Tish. If you ask Mum, Tish is the best pony ever to be born, but she’s so scatter-brained. Nugget’s not, he’s smart. He can open gates and untie his own leadrope and everything. Drives Mum crazy, he’s always escaping and she has to chase him down the road. He thinks it’s fun! He likes to keep things interesting. Jumps like a stag and he’s fast too. Even if he is a bit crazy. I like a bit of crazy, y’know?”
I can believe it. She seems a bit off her rocker herself. I keep nodding and wondering when she’s going to shut up.
“I’m Tegan, by the way.”
“Jay,” I introduce myself.
“I know,” she reminds me.
“Right.”
Before she can launch into another tidal wave of speech, the door to the Principal’s door opens and a tall woman with round glasses appears in the doorframe, looking around at us. She sees Tegan and sighs.
“Already? The term has barely begun.”
Tegan jumps to her feet and starts talking. “I know! It’s ridiculous. And here’s you with important things to do on the first day of school, new students to meet and all that,” with a sweeping gesture at me and the geeky boy, “and they send me to your office for doing nothing.”
Ms Staite leans on the doorframe and looks at Tegan. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!” The woman raises a sceptical eyebrow and Tegan grins. “Well, okay but it was totally blown out of proportion. I mean, I just did it as a tiny practical joke, and you have to admit, it was pretty funny. You should’ve seen her face! But anyway it’s not my fault that the duck crapped all over Tara’s new books. I mean, ducks aren’t that big and you wouldn’t think that being in a locker for like two minutes would make it sh— I mean poop everywhere but, well I guess you learn something new every day.”
“I guess you do,” said Ms Staite ruefully. “I’ll get Tara to write out a list of her damaged property and you’ll be expected to reimburse her for it. You made the mess, you clean it up.”
“Well technically it was the duck that—”
“Don’t argue,” Ms Staite interrupts, holding up a hand in a clear stop signal. “Now get to class, and leave those poor ducks alone in future.”
“Yes Miss,” Tegan says obediently as Ms Staite calls the geeky boy into her office and shuts the door.
I look at Tegan, amused. “You put a duck in someone’s locker?”
“Yeah. Tara Fergusson’s, but she’s a cow and she deserved it.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” I say truthfully. Tegan picks up her backpack and slings it over one shoulder.
“I should get to class before I get in more trouble for being late. You getting the bus home?”
I nod, and she waves as she walks off. “See you then.”
My meeting with Ms Staite is pretty harmless, but pointless too. She repeats Mrs Cahillane’s spiel about ethics and codes of conduct, then refers me to the guidance counsellor.
“Just to make sure that everyone’s on the same page, and to give you any help you might need while you’re adjusting,” she insists, even though I try to tell her that I’m fine and the last thing I need is more counselling. She shoos me out of her office and tells me to come see her any time I have a problem. “My door’s always open,” she tells me, then shuts it behind me when I leave.
The Secretary grabs a passing student and gets her to walk me to E-Block, which is awkward but at least ensures that I don’t get lost. Amy has saved me a seat so I don’t have to worry about looking for somewhere to sit, which is another relief. Mr Vaughan has thinning grey hair and a drooping moustache. The first unit for the term is on Classic English Novels, and he makes a crack about how I’ll have an immediate advantage, being English, which makes me instantly dislike him. I take my copy of Great Expectations, which admittedly I have already read, and shove it in my bag, then zone out for the rest of the class as he goes on about correct essay structures and pronouns and other boring things.
We have a break between first and second period, and Amy introduces me to her friends. I meet Lilly and Moo - her real name’s Daisy, but they call her Moo, and strangely enough she doesn’t seem to mind – who are also in our form class. We sit down to eat and I pick at my food nervously. Sure enough, moments later Natalie arrives, looking at me like crawled out from under a rock. She sits down with her back to me and proceeds to ignore me completely.
The rest of the day drags slowly on. Science and Maths are dull, although it looks like I know more than most of my classmates, so at least I’m not behind academically. I sit with Amy and her friends at lunch, and they gossip about people I don’t know as they paint each other’s nails. For some reason I allow Amy to paint my nails baby pink, and they look awful, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings by saying so. I have my first Cooking class after lunch, but all we do is watch a stupid video about food hygiene and I’m bored out of my mind. And then to make matters worse, I get lost trying to find my final class of the day, and arrive late to find the only empty seat in the room is next to Natalie. She still won’t talk to me, so we spend an entire class trying to ignore each other, and I pretend to listen to the teacher as I try to recall where I packed my nail polish remover, and idly wonder if Tegan would know which locker belongs to Natalie.
I don’t see Alec until we’re in line for the bus after the final b
ell.
“Hey Jay.”
“Hi.” Finally a friendly, familiar face.
“How was your first day?”
I roll my eyes, and he laughs. “That bad?”
“Fairly awful,” I tell him. “How was yours?”
“Same old,” he says. “School always sucks. But,” and he shrugs his backpack higher onto his shoulder, “only one more year and then I’m out of here.”
A small bus pulls up, and Alec jumps on. I follow him, partly relieved that we’re not going to be trying to navigate the steep and winding roads to Clearwater Bay in a full-size bus, but slightly embarrassed by the tiny village bus. Tegan scrambles up the steps behind me and shoves me down the aisle.
“There you are! I’ve been looking for you. Sit there,” and she points to an empty seat about halfway down. I drop obediently into it and she sits next to me. I glance over my shoulder at Alec, who’s sitting in the back seat with a couple of older boys, chatting to them.
“So you’ve made friends with Alec Harrison huh?”
