A gust of self-mocking laughter stopped my random thoughts. Just listen to yourself! I chided my overheated imagination. Warriors and monsters; superheroes? I’d been reading too much Manga.
These boys were a different breed from me. I was not even a blip on their radar. I should be thankful that no one could see inside my head to know just how fanciful I was. My grasp on reality could seem a bit shaky at times as I let my daydreams colour my perceptions. I was plain old Sky; they were gods: that was the way of the world.
I drifted through school for the next few days, gradual y fil ing in the blanks on my map and learning the way things were done. Once I’d caught up with the work, I found I could cope with my classes, even if some of the style of teaching was unfamiliar. It was way more formal than in England—no first names for the students, al of us seated in individual rows rather than in pairs—but I thought I had adjusted OK. So, lul ed into a false sense of security, I was unprepared for the rude shock of my first gym lesson.
Mrs Green, our evil sports teacher, sprang a surprise on the girls early Wednesday morning.
There should be a law against teachers doing that so we at least had time to get a sick note.
‘Ladies, as you know, we’ve lost six of our best cheerleaders to col ege so I’m hunting for new recruits.’ I was not the only one to look crestfal en.
‘Come now, that’s no way to react! Our teams need your support. We can’t have Aspen High out-dancing, out-chanting us, can we?’
Yes we can, I chanted under my breath in Obama-Bob-the-Builder fashion.
She tapped a remote control and Taylor Swift’s
‘You belong with me’ started to blare over the loudspeakers.
‘Sheena, you know what to do. Show the other girls the steps for the first sequence.’
A lanky girl with honey-blonde hair loped with antelope grace to the front and began what looked to me a fiendishly difficult routine.
‘See, it’s simple,’ declared Mrs Green. ‘Fal into line, the rest of you.’ I shuffled to the back. ‘You there
—new girl. I can’t see you.’ Precisely: that had been the idea. ‘Come forward. And from the top—one and two and three, kick.’
OK, I’m not completely hopeless. Even, I managed to do an approximation of Sheena’s moves. The minute hand on the clock crawled towards the end of the period.
‘Now we’re going to step it up,’ announced Mrs Green. At least someone was enjoying herself. ‘Get out the pompoms!’
No way. I was not going to shake those ridiculous things. Glancing over Mrs Green’s shoulder, I could see some of the boys from my class, already back from their run, were spying on us through the window in the sports hal canteen. Sniggering. Great.
Alerted by the attention of the front row to what was going on behind her, Mrs Green twigged that we had an audience. As smooth as a Ninja, she swooped on the boys before they knew what had hit them and dragged them in.
‘We
believe
in
equal
opportunities
in
Wrickenridge High.’ Gleeful y, she thrust pompoms in their hands. ‘Line up, boys.’
Now it was our chance to laugh as the red-faced males were forced to join in. Mrs Green stood at the front assessing our skil —or lack of it. ‘Hmm, not enough, not enough. I think we need to practise a few tosses—Neil,’ she picked out a broad-shouldered boy with a shaved head, ‘you were in the squad last year, weren’t you? You know what to do.’
Tossing sounded OK. Chucking pompoms was better than shaking them.
Mrs Green tapped three more recruits on the shoulder. ‘Gentlemen, I’d like four of you up front.
Make a cradle of your arms—yes, that’s it. Now, we need the smal est girl for this.’
No, absolutely not. I sidled behind Tina, who loyal y tried to look twice her normal girth, pompoms on hips.
‘Where’s she gone—that little English girl? She was here a moment ago.’
Sheena spoilt my plan to hide. ‘She’s behind Tina, ma’am.’
‘Come here, dear. Now, it’s quite simple. Sit on their crossed hands and they’l throw you into the air and catch you. Tina and Sheena, bring a crash mat over here, just in case.’ My eyes must have been like saucers, for Mrs Green patted my cheek. ‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything but point your hands and feet and try to look as if you are enjoying yourself.’
I eyed the boys with distrust; they were looking at me closely, possibly for the first time, estimating just how much weight I was carrying. Then Neil shrugged, making his mind up. ‘Yeah, we can do this.’
‘On the count of three!’ bel owed the teacher.
They grabbed me and up I went. My shriek probably could’ve been heard in England. It certainly brought the basketbal coach and the rest of the boys running in the belief that someone was being brutal y murdered.
I don’t think Mrs Green wil be picking me for the squad.
Stil in shock, I sat at lunch with Tina, barely eating a thing. My stomach had yet to return to earth.
‘They got a fair bit of height on that toss, didn’t they?’ Tina flicked my arm to interrupt my blank stare.
‘Oh. My. God.’
‘You make a lot of noise for such a smal person.’
‘So would you if a sadistic teacher decided to torture you.’
Tina shook her mane. ‘Not going to be a problem for me—I’m too big.’ She thought it funny, the traitor.
‘So, Sky, what’re you going to do with the rest of your recess?’
Spurred out of my stupor, I dug out a leaflet from my welcome pack and put it between us. ‘I thought I’d go along to the music practice. Want to come too?’
She pushed it away with a wry laugh. ‘Sorry, you’re on your own. Me, they don’t let me near the music room. Glass shatters when it sees me coming with my mouth open. What do you play?’
‘A couple of instruments,’ I admitted.
‘Details, sister, details.’ She beckoned with her fingers, drawing the words out of me.
‘Piano, guitar, and saxophone.’
‘Mr Keneal y is going to die of excitement when he hears. A one-girl band! Do you sing?’
I shook my head.
‘Phew! I thought I was going to have to hate you for being sickeningly talented.’ She dumped her tray.
‘Music’s this way. I’l show you.’
I’d seen pictures on the school website but the music suite was much better equipped than even I had hoped. The main classroom had a glossy black grand that I was already itching to get my hands on.
Students were mil ing around when I entered, some strumming on their guitars, a couple of girls practising scales on flutes. A tal , dark-haired boy with John Lennon glasses was changing the reed on his clarinet, his expression serious. I looked for somewhere inconspicuous to sit, preferably with a good view of the piano. There was a space next to a girl on the far side. I made towards it but her friend sat down before I could.
‘Sorry, but this seat’s taken,’ the girl said, seeing I was stil hovering at her shoulder.
‘Right. OK.’
I perched alone on the edge of a desk and waited, avoiding meeting anyone’s eye.
‘Hey, you’re Sky, right?’ A boy with a shaved head and complexion of rich roast coffee took my hand, giving it a complicated shake. He moved with the easy grace of the long-limbed. Put into one of my comic book dreams, he’d be cal ed something like Elasto-man.
Stop it, Sky, concentrate.
‘Um … hi. You know me?’
‘Yeah. I’m Nelson. You met my grandma. She told me to watch out for you. Everyone treating you wel ?’
OK—so he wasn’t like Mrs Hoffman after al , way too cool. ‘Yes, everyone’s been very friendly.’
He grinned at my accent and dropped down beside me, putting his feet up on the chair in front.