O.M.G… I'm so proud of you, baby girl is going to school today!" Mom was holding her phone like she wanted to take a picture of me stepping out of the house. Like this was kindergarten graduation or something. I swear if she had balloons, she would've tied them to my backpack.
Mom's voice was equal parts sounded like excitement and dramatic pep talk. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I was her 18-year-old daughter or still some toddler she had to push in a stroller. She even did that thing where she fixes my collar unnecessarily. There was nothing wrong with my collar. She just needed to feel involved.
Yeah right. I just got into high school - well, not exactly, but my family had just moved from Los Angeles to London after Dad lost his job. Mom had been running shifts to keep us afloat in LA, but… let's just say that plan didn't exactly work. Dad finally landed a job here, and now we were relocating. Big city, and it was a big change. London feels different, it is cold, not just the weather, the air. The buildings. The accents here. Everything feels heavier somehow. Like I stepped into someone else's life and I'm just… borrowing it.
"Mom, yes, I get it! It's my first day of school, I'll be a good girl… stick to my books… bla bla bla," I said, rolling my eyes and shoveling down breakfast. Mom had woken me up way too early. Apparently, if I wasn't out of the house by 7:00 am, the world would end. She kept saying, "First impressions matter." I mean… do they really? Because I'm pretty sure everyone forgets your name after the first week in school.
"Ladies, calm down," Dad said, peering at me through the rearview mirror. "It's just school, not college or marriage." I choked on my juice. Marriage? Oh, Please. Can I survive first period first?
Yeah, don't even start with that lecture about college and marriage. I almost forgot Dad was even in the car - he usually lets Mom do all the yelling - until now. He's been quieter since we moved. I think losing his job hit him harder than he admits. Sometimes I catch him staring at nothing like he's replaying everything in his head.
"Dad, can you tell Mom to stop treating me like a child? I'm 18!" I snapped, grabbing my bag and hopping out of the car. Ten minutes to class? That should be enough… I hoped.
My stomach was doing this annoying flip thing. Not because of starting school. Not entirely. Just… starting over is exhausting.
"You heard her,She's 18" Dad said, mimicking my tone.
"Thanks, Dad… that really helps," I muttered sarcastically.
"Be safe, honey," Mom added, giving me one of those knowing smiles that clearly said, I expect a full report when you get home. At all. If I sneeze near a boy, she'll want details.
"Bye, peeps that gave birth to me!" I shouted as the car zoomed off. A few students walking past looked at me weird. Great. I'm already the loud American girl.
Now it was just me… and the school. And first impressions mattered - or so everyone claimed. I needed the bathroom, like, yesterday. Nothing like first-day nerves and the urgent realisation that I might pee my pants if I didn't run.
The hallways smelled like cleaning products and something baked - maybe toast? British schools feel… structured. Like everyone knows where they're going except me.
After surviving the bathroom dash, I headed to the principal's office to grab my locker number and timetable. I checked my reflection before knocking. Okay. You look normal. Just don't say anything embarrassing.
"Good morning, Mr…" I trailed off, scanning the desk for his name.
"James," he added, looking up just as I approached. Thank goodness - I'd have been standing here awkwardly otherwise.
"And you must be the new girl," he said, rifling through a file. "Elizabeth Peters?"
"Yeah… that's me," I said, a little too quickly.
"Welcome to Edgewood. Here we offer education, moral support, encouragement… and everything you need to succeed."
Uhh… isn't that literally what every school says? Do they all rehearse that speech in some secret principal meeting?
He handed me a form to fill out, that contains - name, address, phone numbers… basically, all my parents' info. Which I hadn't done, because Mom and Dad already paid for everything online. I signed the agreement to follow the rules, got my locker key and timetable, and straightened up.
"Thank you, sir. It'd be an honour…" I mentally paused, I smacked myself. "I mean… it's an honour to be here," I corrected, walking out.
Why did I say that? Who even talks like that?
Breathe in… breathe out. You have got this. Five minutes to spare. I sprinted to my locker - number 96 - and stuck the key in.
It didn't open.
Great. Just great. I tried again. And again. Maybe if I stare at it long enough, it'll feel guilty and unlock itself.
As I fumbled, a boy appeared beside me. He pulled a key from his pocket and smirked.
"Is the new girl a locker thief?" he asked. His accent. British, of course. Why are British accents automatically annoying and attractive at the same time?
"What?!"
"You must've gotten my key, then," I said, holding out my hands.
He laughed. "What are you saying? This is my locker."
Turns out… I was at the wrong locker. I looked at the numbers again. Oh. My. God. The six was upside down. I hate my life.
"Your locker number is… 69," he pointed out, still chuckling. Of course it is. Why couldn't I at least fail quietly?
"Thanks," I muttered, blushing and moving to the right one.
Once settled, I grabbed my books, and the bell rang. Perfect timing. The hallway suddenly filled with people moving in every direction. Laughter, with shoes squeaking. Voices overlapping. And for a second… I felt very, very small.
As I passed the boy again, I caught his name - Ethan. Smart me, huh? I had to double back because I still had no idea which way my classroom was.
He noticed me turning around and gave me this look like, "Already lost?" I pretended not to see it.
Yep. It's the first day, and it's already chaotic.