Chapter 1: New Here

“Is anyone sitting here?” Grace couldn’t think of a less stupid way of asking. There weren’t any empty tables though.

“No, please...” luckily the girl smiled and waved her hand invitingly at the empty chair opposite her. She seemed friendly, and about fifteen too, or sixteen possibly. “I’m new here as well.” Her accent was Italian. The ‘R’s were rolled and it had sounded like ‘newa here asa wellla’, unlike Grace’s own over-crisp, overcorrect English. Her voice was quite deep and had a husky resonance.

“Thanks,” Grace sat down, “I’m Grace.” She smiled back at the girl, who was a good size, like five-seven or -eight, with athletic broad shoulders, and the confidence to go with it. Dark-green jacket over some band tee, matching her eyes.

“I am Mia.” She made being Mia sound like a perfect thing to be, holding Grace’s gaze momentarily with her arresting eyes, while her classy perfume wafted over the table. Long straight brown hair flowed glossily over those shoulders, and her makeup was perfect, like her teeth. It had to be her first day too, or she’d have been in the middle of a crowd.

“Hey girls,” the guy who’d been eyeing up Grace’s legs in her stripey leggings, the whole time she’d been queueing at the food counter, was standing there grinning. Asian, a year or two older, and cocky.

Without asking he set out his lunch, pulled out the chair next to Grace and sat down. Another boy, taller and skinnier, took the seat next to Mia, smiling at the other three but not saying anything.

“Hi ... boys,” the Italian girl’s melodic voice had a hint of mockery in it.

“First day? I’m Mohammad.”

“I am Mia, yes.”

“I’m Grace, me too.” She had to say something, even though guys like this one loved to treat her like a little girl they could patronise. Her being small was like a red rag to some of them. But at least she could feel Mia giving this boy nothing too, even with him being perhaps sixteen or even seventeen.

“I’m Paul, hi, just started too.” The second boy, blond with a hint of ginger, smiled amiably round the table. American, skinny and attractive. Grace’s own age by the look of it.

“So what brings you to ISL?” Mohammad asked. The International School Luxembourg is a place for the kids of people who come from abroad to work in the tax haven.

“My mother’s started working here,” Grace carefully under-informed him, “how about you?”

Mohammad smiled as though amused. “My dad works in SES, I’ve been here a couple of years.”

SES was where her mum worked. Crap.

“PayPal, and eBay,” grinned Mia. She looked like her family had money. Though Grace reckoned her own mum did okay too, being literally a rocket scientist with the satellite company. Luxembourg is like that. In fact there was probably not a single poor kid in the entire school.

“RTL,” offered Paul.

The rest of the meal was spent swapping backgrounds and courses, and all the time Grace was feeling pressure from Mohammad, or Mo as he liked to be called by his friends apparently. She so nearly called him Mohammad on purpose, but couldn’t quite make herself be rude. She avoided using his name at all. She kept her age quiet too: he was being superior enough without knowing for sure that she was younger.

But she couldn’t stop him dancing attention on her, even though she thought she was making it pretty obvious she wasn’t interested. Then when she stood up to leave, Mohammad had to be standing up too and asking what she was doing now. She never lied - well hardly ever - and so she was stuck with admitting she had a free period. Mia and Paul each had a class, leaving Grace with this pushy guy acting all senior.

“Let me show you around,” he said.

Grace looked at him. He was very handsome, with that coffee-coloured skin, the dark, deep-set eyes and the most perfect nose ever; but ridiculously egocentric and insensitive. She couldn’t think of an excuse in time anyway, though she just knew she’d think of a great one as soon as it was too late...

“Okay,” she made herself not thank him, at least. If he thought he was doing her a favour he could think that on his own.

“Alright, we’ll start at the southern end and we can work our way up to the plaza,” he informed her.

Grace found herself tagging along, being lectured on all kinds of irrelevant stuff about the school. Why couldn’t she just be rude and walk off? He was exploiting her good manners! Alright exploiting her manners AND her difficulty with asserting herself, which she blamed on her stupid tiny size of barely five feet.

She wasn’t meek inside, so why did she act meek? It really pissed her off. Well okay she wasn’t meek with her friends, or people who really knew her. In fact she could be quite feisty.

“I have a class at three,” she made an effort and told him eventually, when it seemed he might go on all afternoon.

“Okay,” Mo was surprisingly agreeable, making her wish she’d said something earlier, “what does your mother do, by the way?”

“She’s a propulsion engineer.”

“At SES? ... Yes obviously.” He was working out she’d avoided mentioning that link between them, she could hear in his voice. Cool. Perhaps he’d even take the hint.