But something about this school makes me feel happy. And the thought of walking through this courtyard tomorrow, dressed in the school uniform, hearing the faint sounds of the city moving on all around us but almost being both trapped and set free in this living piece of history, is … well, exciting.
I swallow hard, surprised at myself. I shift my gaze from the building, trying to discern which of the numerous doors to enter through. I walk a few steps, and then one of them opens. I can only assume that the large, round woman standing in the doorway is Ms. Adams.
“Miss James?” she questions, taking a few steps closer to me as I nod in affirmation. “I’m Ms. Adams, school administrator. It’s nice to meet you.” She shakes my hand. She doesn’t have a firm grip, but it isn’t the softest either. She’s wearing a thick wool skirt, topped with a brown sweater, and her formality is comforting.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, taking my hand back.
“Now, if you’d like to follow me to the office, we will get you all sorted out.”
She turns, leading me into the building. It’s just as beautiful on the inside as it is on the outside. I love the old stone walls and thick wooden moldings. She turns a corner, taking me into a room that branches off into offices. A moment later, she has me seated at her desk.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asks, turning on a kettle.
“I’m all right. Thank you though,” I reply politely.
She looks a little taken aback by my answer but gives me a nod before proceeding to sit in silence until her kettle rings out, and then she has a cup of steaming water in front of her.
It’s possible that she already doesn’t like me simply because I don’t like tea.
“Now then, I won’t keep you too long, as it’s Sunday and I want you to get settled in. I’ve got a packet here for you,” she says, handing me a thick brown envelope, “that I thought we might go through together. First off is your schedule. You’ll be taking Statistics, Latin, Art, and Geography. Those classes run every day and then are shortened on Tuesdays and Thursdays to account for sports. You’ll have to choose one sport, and I’ve included the list of options here.”
She gestures to another piece of paper on the desk before flipping it over and looking at the next one, moving at a fast clip. “You’ll be expected to attend all classes. If you’re ill, please have your host family contact the school. You’ll need your student card for lunch, as it runs as a charge card. Your class schedule is listed here with buildings and room numbers along with a map. This sheet has your locker information on it. You’re in locker number seventy-five on the main floor, and here,” she says, pointing, “is the combination. We’ve already put your textbooks for classes in it, so they will be there, waiting for you in the morning. Be sure to take the appropriate one with you to each class.”
I nod my head, following along. So far, all she’s rambled on about is the schedule and locker, and those things are pretty standard.
“As for your uniforms, we have a school spirit shop at the far end of campus. I’ll escort you there now to get your uniforms sorted out. Pick out whatever you like, and again, it can be directly charged to your student card. We will have it packed up and delivered to your host home this evening so that you’re prepared for school tomorrow. Please read over the list of rules, which includes regulations on the dress code.
“We have a full-time counselor on staff, and if you’re having trouble adjusting or need someone to talk to, she is the one to contact. We’ve put you with the Williams family, as you already know. This is advantageous to you, as their son, Noah, is also in your year and can help guide you through daily life at Kensington.”
The mention of Noah makes me perk up a bit, and I’m starting to wonder what he’s actually like.
I nod my head at Ms. Adams, giving her a smile because, all of a sudden, she has stopped talking and is staring at me.
“All right then,” she says, getting up. “I will give you a quick tour and then have you on your way to the shop.”
I stand up, following her out of the office and into the hallway. As she leads me down it, I find lockers, noticing that the aged facade has transitioned into a clean and modern school.
“If you follow this hallway, it takes you to our sporting facilities.” Ms. Adams points and then continues walking. “In front of us is the common room, and over there is the lunchroom. Everyone in your year attends lunch at the same time.”
I try to get a peek inside, but all of the lights are switched off, and I end up looking at my reflection in the glass.
“If you follow this hallway, you will find your locker at the end as well as most of the classrooms. This stairwell here will take you up to the first through third floors. If you go through those doors”—she points again—“there is a connected building, housing the nurse, teachers’ offices, and such. If you continue past that, you’ll find the building for our younger students, but the majority of your time will be spent here.”
I try to take in all of the information, feeling slightly turned around. I’m silently grateful for the map included in my packet. I follow behind her until we’re standing in front of the school shop.
“You’re allowed to wear skirts, shorts, or trousers. If you wear skirts or shorts, black tights are required to be worn underneath them. Every day, you need to be in a white button-up, but you may add one of the school jumpers if you’re chilly. Black shoes are mandatory.” She nods to herself as I look over the clothes, not impressed by their fabric choices or design, not to mention the overuse of navy and red.
“Oh, and please come back to my office on Tuesday morning before classes start and let me know which sport you will be participating in. We can then get you set up for it that afternoon.”
“Okay,” I reply, taking the packet that she hands to me.
“Mr. Hughes,” she calls out, causing a man to pop his head out into the shop from an office.
“Ms. Adams.” He smiles, moving toward us at a snail’s pace.
“Please see to it that Miss James is prepared for her first day of classes tomorrow.” She gives him a warm smile, and I’m starting to wonder if she just doesn’t like me or if she is more friendly to people she knows.
“Very well.” He nods, taking my elbow and leading me to a section full of skirts and pants.
The patterns are classic, and the shirts are plain, but I manage to collect a pile of clothing, adding in some sweaters—or should I say, jumpers—and tights, like she instructed.
Mr. Hughes smiles as he folds the clothing. “We will have this delivered by evening’s end,” he tells me, and then I’m free to go.
I take in the fresh air again, feeling the weight of my new schedule and the school rules heavy in my hand.
I want the distraction.
3pm
As I make my way off campus, I decide to go to one of the cafés that Helen recommended. It’s still light out, and having a little me time before going back to the house sounds nice. It’s my last moment of freedom where I can still pretend tomorrow isn’t happening.
I peek through the window and decide against it. It looks nice, but it’s quiet and small.