Chapter 2: First Day of School

The first day back at school was exactly like it had been for the last six years. The new Year Seven kids looked scared, nervous and, this year in particular, really, really small. Although I guess I was just bigger than I used to be. During the first two periods, we were given a bunch of forms to fill in and we had to work out our timetables.

As it turned out, my first classes of the week should have been periods one and two, but, obviously, they weren’t because we were too busy filling in the forms and shit. I had frees during periods three and four—sorry, I mean, I had self-directed study time during periods three and four—which meant my first proper class wasn’t until after lunch. English Lit with Miss Pattison.

My friends weren’t quite so lucky and they all had lessons while I faced the prospect of sitting in the library alone for two hours with nothing to do. It wouldn’t be too bad once we got into the swing of things. I was doing four A-levels, each one taking up six of the thirty weekly timetabled periods. That left me with six frees—sorry, self-directed study periods—and having two of them together like this, when none of my friends was about, would mean I wouldn’t get distracted and would get more studying done. But on that first day, there wasn’t yet anything for me to study.

So, I had to find something to do while I waited for lunch on that first day. I decided to look through some of the university prospectuses in the library. They were last year’s but that wouldn’t make much difference at this point. I was already pretty sure what I wanted to do at uni—Law. I guess the lawyer that sorted things out for Vicky and me after the accident inspired me. But I didn’t know where I wanted to go. Vicky kept on to me about how convenient Westmouth would be, and she was right, it would be convenient. And it wasn’t like it was a bad university. It had a good reputation but...

A delicate cough interrupted my thoughts. I looked up from the Westmouth prospectus to see Clarissa standing at the end of the table. Her loose golden curls perfectly framed an impossibly pretty face with high cheekbones, perfect button nose and piercing sapphire eyes. Yet despite her immaculate appearance—white blouse, black, knee-length skirt, and matching heels—and her air of effortless elegance, she looked nervous, demure even, as she held her hands in front of her.

“Hi,” she said with a shy half-smile. “Mind if I sit with you?” There was something about her tone, although I wasn’t sure what it was. Fear? Hope? Or maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe she was just nervous. I certainly knew how that felt.

I shook my head and waved towards the empty seats, too dumbfounded to speak. In all the time we’d been in the same school, I couldn’t recall ever having a single conversation with Clarissa Liddington. It wasn’t done. I was a Townie after all.

There were two very clearly defined cliques at Micester High—The Villagers and The Townies. The Townies lived, as you can imagine, on the rabbit-warren estates in town. Their parents generally worked up at the factory or in one of the many businesses that serviced it. The Villagers, meanwhile, were the school’s upper crust. Their homes were in the outrageously expensive outlying villages, and they were the sons and daughters of lawyers, accountants, city and bank managers or their parents were managers or board members of the local businesses that supported the factory.

The Villagers and The Townies. Two cliques and never the twain shall meet. So Clarissa Liddington, The Head Villager, asking to sit at the same table as me? I’ll admit, it threw me.

She pulled out a chair and sat with a straight back and her hands together on the table in front of her. It wasn’t that she looked uncomfortable, but she didn’t look at ease either. Like I said, it was probably just nerves. And perhaps she was working out what to say. Or how to say it.

“Paul, I...” She paused and looked down at her hands. I’m ashamed to say I was surprised she even knew my name. I shouldn’t have been, we were in the same year after all, but I was. That’s The Great Divide for you.

She looked up at me and appeared to steel herself, taking a short breath before she said, “I never got to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“For what you did at the wedding.”

“Oh. That’s okay. I was just—”

“You weren’t just anything.” Her eyes went wide as she interrupted me. “It took a lot of guts to stand up to Jake like that.”

I shrugged. Maybe it did, but he backed off a lot easier than I expected. Maybe his reputation wasn’t deserved.

“I mean it.” She reached out to touch my hand, but only for a second before she pulled away again quickly as if she’d just stuck her hand in a fire. “I don’t know anyone else that would have done that. Then afterwards...” She held her hands in front of her again and stared at them as she shook her head. Then she looked up at me, holding my gaze and said, “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

The intensity of her stare was almost frightening. She meant what she was saying, that much was obvious. It was right there, in those penetrating blue eyes. “That all I needed was a hug. How did you know that? Most people would have kept asking if I was okay, or tried to get me to talk about it or...” She looked away and shuddered before looking back. “I can name more than a few guys who’d have tried to cop a feel. But you...”

A shrug. A tilt of her head. A softening of her eyes. Damn, she looked beautiful at that moment. Beautiful and vulnerable. I wanted to hug her again. To protect her. From what, I wasn’t sure, but from something. But instead, I sat still.