Chapter 2

The break was pretty short and not a success. We were standing just outside the building and before we got a chance to talk about anything a couple of the other kids came over. Two girls I instantly classified as A-list bimbos (I later found out I was spot on) were chatting me up, pointedly ignoring Fran.

A tall and massive rather arrogant type came over and started playing with one of the bimbos' bra elastic in a possessive manner. Out of the blue he asked "So George, are you into Football?" looking over my moderate build with a condescending expression.

"Indeed I am, but not your kind," I replied. "I was a starter for the last 4 years in Soccer. The code you play here confuses me."

"Soccer?" he sneered. "That's not Football!"

"To each his own," I replied cheerfully. "Your Football requires brawn. Soccer requires brains. You sure seem suited for Football!" I added innocently.

"I do - I am quarterback on the school team" he replied self-importantly. Only Fran got the implicit insult and tried to suppress a giggle. She was only partly successful and got a withering glare from bimbo one.

It was a case of 'saved by the bell' and we headed back in. "You gotta be careful with Darren," Fran warned me in a whisper. "He can be pretty mean."

"Thanks. I'll take note of that. But he seemed too dense to realize that the joke was on him," I whispered back. "And neither of the bimbos got it."

"Lorraine didn't, but Suzy is not quite so dim. And having worked so hard to bag Darren, she is constantly on edge," Fran added.

A moment later Miss Johnson arrived. I endured yet another round of introductions and questioning before the class began - predictably with an overview of immediate plans. Fran had certainly told no lies regarding how soporific Miss Johnson could be, but at least I managed to stay awake.

So went the morning. I stayed with Fran for all classes and ended up with her as my partner in three subjects. At lunch time she showed me the cafeteria. "The food is deadly," she said. "Although I'm told there is supposedly a big change in the selection this year."

"I think my dad has a finger in that," I replied. "One of the preventative medicine projects is a radical improvement in school food, and I think our school takes part in the pilot project."

"Oh," she said, "- anyway I bring my own."

I bought a quite decent salad and got myself bread and mineral water to go with it. The new healthy stuff didn't seem overly popular - there were loud and rude outbursts against the cafeteria staff over the food selection and lack of sweet sodas.

I went looking for Fran and found her sitting alone eating some rather revolting looking and anything but healthy food. She brightened when she saw me sitting down at her table, but followed my gaze at her food and her face fell. "My Mom is a waitress. She brings home leftovers."

I simply nodded, but her obesity was easily explained if this was a representative sample of her diet.

After lunch we had separate electives, but we met again for the last class - double physics. The teacher - groan - did a welcome, asked me - groan - to introduce myself, and - groan - ran through the plan before he asked us to select a lab partner. I prodded Fran on her shoulder "Hello partner," I said as she spun round with a frightened look. "Are you game?"

"Oh, I really suck at physics," she mumbled. "Perhaps you should find someone better."

"Nonsense!" I replied. "I am really good at physics, but nothing much in history - so that will balance things out and make it fair!"

The megawatt smile came back. "I'll be happy to," she said. And that was that. I will agree that she was not a natural around a lab, but she held her own and we got the prac completed and got a fair way with doing the calculations for the report.

When school ended I called a 'See you tomorrow' and went to get my bike. I didn't see where Fran went, but she was not heading towards the bike sheds and that hardly surprised me.

On the way up a steep hill (the quarter is not called 'The Hills' for nothing!) a fairly flashy car drove slowly past me, adjusted its speed to mine and the passenger side window was rolled down. Inside were two of the 'Hill boys' - Jake at the wheel and, I think, Simon. "If your Dad's so rich, how come you haven't got a car?" Simon asked in a sneer - if Simon was indeed his name.

"Oh, but I do!" I replied in complete accordance with the truth. Dad's celebration of the new job (that's how he described it - I took it to be a consolation for leaving New England) was giving me a flashy little two-seater Mercedes Benz.

"Why are you sweating your butt off on a push bike then?" Jake leaned over and asked, sounding much more good-natured.

"For the exercise," I replied, again in complete accordance with the truth. "I used to train Soccer three times a week and track and field twice. There's no Soccer here and I haven't joined the athletics yet, so bike-riding is my only exercise at the moment. I don't want to get fat."

"Speaking of fat," said Simon in a fake-friendly way, "How did you enjoy your first day at school - apart form having 'Fatces' glued to you all day?"

"I beg your pardon?" I replied in a clipped New England Brahmin accent. "Just who may you be referring to?"

"Frances - the fatso from 'The Tracks'," Simon said, as if I was some dim-wit. "Tough for you that you came so late you had to sit next to her!" he continued.