• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

So within days of taking my father’s phone call while sitting cross-legged on the carpet, I was starting at a new school. This time nervousness did not make me posh, it made me mute. Everybody else had started at the college about six weeks earlier, they had made friends and formed cliques. I was a late entrant, the new guy. I took the same number bus I used to take, but this time in the opposite direction. When I arrived for my first day, the scene was a far cry from the samey Merchant Taylors’ pupils. The major difference was that the lack of school uniform meant the students could express themselves at a time in life when they were extremely keen to express themselves. Every fashion statement ever made was being made by someone, and every race, creed and colour was represented. When I got inside the main building, it resembled the departures lounge of an international airport.

I kept my head down and kept quiet. I was terrified, but already enjoying it more than Merchant Taylors’. The exciting difference from what I was used to was girls. Girls, girls, girls, everywhere. Small ones, big ones, white ones, black ones, brown ones, tall ones, short ones, blonde ones, brunette ones, ginger (strawberry blonde) ones, a bald one (what’s going on there?), too-much-make-up-wearing ones, not-enough-make-up-wearing ones, and one with the biggest breasts I had seen in my life. Wow. I was mesmerized by them. These were knockout knockers. They were attached to a long dark frizzy-haired beauty. I was lost. Asking directions is an ice-breaker. It could lead to something.

I opened my mouth to speak, but as I hadn’t spoken for so long my throat was dry and no words came out, just this bizarre croak. She looked at me, bemused. I cleared my throat and tried again.

‘Hi, I’m looking for room 42,’ I said finally with the clarity I’d initially hoped for.

‘Room 42?’ she said with a voice that seemed to perfectly match her tits. ‘Just down the hall and I think it’s the second left.’

Our exchange did lead to something. It led to room 42. I’d hoped for more, but, hey, I had plenty of time. I went to school here, with hundreds of girls. This knowledge suddenly gave me a rush of confidence, and I decided to take our relationship to the next level.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

‘Tina,’ she said.

I stood there for a few moments waiting for her to ask mine. She didn’t. I headed to room 42.

I found room 42. My classroom. When I entered, the scene was so rowdy that nobody noticed the new boy. It was a large class of about thirty-odd. People were laughing, play-fighting, chewing gum, throwing bits of paper, smoking, breastfeeding. I took a vacant seat right at the back next to a stocky bloke with two gold earrings in one ear and a shaven head.

‘All right, mate?’ he said in a voice that seemed to perfectly match his hair and earrings.

‘Yes, mate, I’m fine, dandy.’ I had never used the word ‘dandy’ before in my life. What a time for it to make its debut.

‘You’re posh, innit?’ he asked.

There’s really no answer to this question. So I decided to ask one of my own.

‘What “house” are you in?’ I asked, referring to the school ‘house’ system at public schools.

He just stared at me, trying to make sense of my question before saying, ‘Yeah, I like a bit of house, but mainly hip-hop and ragga.’

At that moment, the teacher walked in. I had met him briefly when I came in for my interview. I immediately bolted to my feet and exclaimed at the top of my voice, ‘GOOD MORNING, SIR!’

Nobody else in the class reacted when the teacher walked in. But they certainly reacted to me. They all stopped laughing, play-fighting, chewing gum, throwing bits of paper, smoking, breastfeeding and turned to stare at me.

I was baffled why they weren’t standing to attention and presumed they hadn’t noticed the teacher had entered.

‘Sir’s here,’ I whispered to my new classmates.

‘Who?’ a few of them mumbled.

‘Sir!’ I repeated, motioning towards the teacher. At this point, even the teacher looked behind