The navy blue satchel in front of me came undone almost immediately, and a whole array of items spilled out. I cringed, and hastily bent down to retrieve them. At first it was all just typical school stuff - pencils, pens, a club badge ... then I saw the lip gloss and the compact powder and the spare earrings and the eyeliner ... whoa, have I stumbled into a fashion school?

The girl I bumped into didn't even bend down to retrieve her items and left me to it. I ended up picking up all her stuff while staring at her very orange, mesh platform ankle boots with a side zipper design and a heel that was four inches high. I knew all the specs because just the day before I had been to a department store and saw those exact same shoes in the display window. They were tagged with a banner screaming "New Arrival!", and costed approximately 120 dollars and 90 cents.

With an armful of her things I stood back up and cast a keen eye over her. She had on a cardigan and black leggings, and was also dressed in a loose white T-shirt with just enough the amount of transparency, so you couldn't see, but could figure out, that she had on a black undergarment. Her hair was the most striking part of her, long and flowing, done in a hairstyle which was apparently called "ombre" - which was French for shadow, by the way. Also the name of a card game. The golden color went from dark shades to lighter hues along the length of her artistically wind-swept hair. 

I mentally tallied up her points, trying to determine which empire she was in. Expensive tastes, fashionable clothing, excessive cosmetic products, derisive glare ... too bad she doesn't have a band of merry men ... 

"Oh. My. God. Brandy, did that girl just knock into you?"

Whoops. I take it back. Two more girls came to stand by her side, each with their arms folded and wearing the same derisive look.

I was in unfamiliar territory and seemed to have stumbled right into hostile forces. So, following the Blackcroft guidelines...

1. Assess.

Done. Conclusion - Popular. Definitely the Popular empire.

2. Ask.

As in ask yourself. Can you take down this amorphous blob of stewed prune?

I looked at her. She had four-inch high heels on but she was the same height as me. She didn't look very skinny, had a well-maintained S figure, but I doubt she could execute a roundhouse kick in those heels.

So the conclusion was yes. Yes I could take down this stewed prune.

3. Attack.

I hesitated.

These were all great, but they belonged in the world of Blackcroft. In the world of high school, I had a feeling they played by different rules.

My mother's voice echoed in my head.

It's easy when you're faced with the enemy. You know exactly what to do. But what if you're not sure of friend or foe? What if you were faced with the unknown? Don't panic. And remember -

Two steps back and one step forth. That puts you right in the middle. Don't go the extremes.

I was too close. I was in her face, and she didn't like it at all, I could tell. I had offended her.

So take two steps back.

I handed her her things, keeping my smile friendly. My voice had guilt in it but I did not stammer; I was apologetic but no push-over.

"I'm so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going. First day at school and all that. By the way, I realize we're complete strangers but I have to say this - your hair is amazing! How did you get it done like that? It looks so professional! My aunt's a hairdresser and I've seen her clients before, she says people with your kind of a hair are her favorites, because your hair is already in excellent condition and only needs a little touch-up. I bet you're a natural blonde aren't you?"

They stared at me and my - hopefully - engaging smile, looking a little startled at my warmth. The girls at the side looked to Brandy. Aha, so she's the queen bee of the three. Brandy narrowed her eyes at me as she gave me the once-over. In the end her face seemed to relax a bit, but her voice still carried a suspicious tone.

"Your aunt is right." Her voice was clear, confident and a little adenoidal, as if some of her words came through her nose. "And yes, I am a natural blonde."

She gave a sniff. "New student?"

Now take one step forth.

"Yeap." I stuck out a hand. "I'm Hayley Banner. Just transferred here from Miami. My father's a recruiter for this big company, so we travel quite a lot. This is my fourth school transfer."

Classy, but not glamorous. Enough to show that my family had some status. Brandy's eyebrow cleared a little, though she still had some suspicion lingering in her eyes. There was a pause as she continued sizing me up and I crossed my toes, hoping she would decide I wasn't worth the attention, either good or bad.

In the end she merely nodded and snapped her fingers at her two loyal dogs - sorry, friends. The three of them sashayed away. I let out a breath of relief I didn't even know I had been holding. She didn't even take my hand! I let it drop to my side. Man, she was one tough nut to crack. Were all Populars like this? I would have to avoid them like - the men.

I made for my class and the teacher introduced me to everyone. I was polite but not very friendly, talked but only when approached. This was the method to staying invisible. Answer questions only when asked, put out just enough to be heard, but not enough to be seen. Don't be a mute but don't be a chatterbox either.

Stay in the middle. Don't go the extremes.

It worked pretty well until PE class. Physical education. I was actually looking forward to it. I already had Chemistry and Social Sciences, and by Merlin's most baggy Y-fronts were they boring! I had to hide my complete ineptitude too, because of course I had absolutely not the foggiest idea what the teacher was talking about. I took comfort in knowing it wasn't just me, quite a few of the boys were in fact openly sleeping in class. Apparently "finals" was coming up in two months, which I took to mean an exam, and which I further interpreted as incentive to accomplish mission as quickly as possible.

But first, a little bit of exercise. Pambrooke's gym was huge, with a basketball court and some badminton courts beside. My jaw fell open as I entered, and it wasn't only due to the size, but also because they had this huge rock climbing wall. At Blackcroft we had something similar on our training grounds, which I'd seen Eric clamber up and down before. Of course I was never allowed to try, but that didn't stop me from finding my own wall to climb. 

Which was the outside of the manor. The manor was old and built primarily of bricks and stones, so there were quite a lot of cracks for me to use. My bedroom faced the back of the house, and had little to no security cameras. So I would climb the manor wall when I felt like it, usually somewhere around midnight. The thing was I had no safety harness, and quite a few times I had slipped and fallen down, especially the first few tries. I'd crash into the bushes and forced myself to lay low for a few minutes, hissing out through my teeth instead of screaming out in pain to avoid detection. I think they knew what I was doing, but ignored me anyway, because that was usually what they did.

This wall wasn't as tall as my three-storey house, but it looked exciting enough. I couldn't wait to try it. The teacher looked bored and disinterested, he said he had "things" to take care of and had to leave. He would be coming back only at the end of the class, and "Try not to break anything, especially you Donovan!"

I seemed to be the only girl all gung-ho about PE. The minute the door closed behind the teacher most of my classmates went straight to the stands and sat down, talking. It was the regular routine apparently. Four girls started playing badminton doubles, while the boys hogged the basketball court. I was itching to try the wall - but! No one else was using it. And if you wanted to stay invisible ... So I hung back instead, watching the game, but I kept glancing over at the wall with longing every five seconds.

After about twenty minutes the boys decided to take a little breather. I watched them drink water and talk loudly, arguing that I could have totally taken your ball and can't be, he ain't got no balls. Typical stuff like that. One of the boys suddenly removed his shirt and there was a loud chorus of whoops as they saw what he wore underneath.

"Dude! Is that a real autographed jersey? From LeBron James? How'd you get that?"

"Man that's amazing!"

"You wanna trade? I've got Target."

One of the boys broke away and approached the boy with the signed jersey. He pointed a thumb at the climbing wall.

"Climbing competition. I win, we trade shirts and I keep yours for today and tomorrow. You win, you get my shirt - I'll walk around the whole day shirtless. You on?"

There was a loud cheer. "You go Sam!" and "Don't let him beat you, Dean!"

A pause - and Dean nodded. Everyone's attention - including yours truly - was focused on them as they walked over to the wall. An umpire was chosen, the whistle blew, and the competition started.

Sam won. Dean's safety rope got around his leg at one point and he wasted precious seconds untangling it. If that hadn't happen I think Dean might have had a shot at winning.

They descended and Sam pumped his fists in the air. "Well hand it over now dude. Don't worry I'll take care of it. I won't even wash it, I'll just give it back to you all stinky and sweaty."

Looking mournful, Dean - is he taking off his shirt? In public? I flicked my eyes away fast. I was the only one who did so however, some of the girls even made catcalls. I was horrified, were you allowed to do that? Why on earth would you even do that!

I waited until I was very sure they were done before sneaking a peek. Now Sam was wearing the autographed jersey and Dean had Sam's on. Which looked hilarious on him, because Sam was two sizes bigger. The jersey that had been loose on Dean fitted Sam like a glove.

Another boy stepped up. He was one of the rowdy, muscly ones; during the basketball match he had played it rough. When some of his friends talked to him about it he had brushed it off as "just harmless fun".

Now he stripped off his own shirt, and turned it inside out. It turned out he had been wearing it inside out the whole day, and by turning the inside-out-shirt inside out he revealed what it really was. The shirt wasn't autographed and it wasn't about basketball, but a -

"Adidas Germany Euros 2016 collector's edition jersey," the brunette next to me whispered, her eyes sparkling in a daze.

Oh. I was going to say soccer jersey, but oh well. Whatever she said.

"You like soccer?" I asked.

The brunette nodded, her eyes till fixated on the rowdy boy. "I love it. Especially Germany. I've watched every single one of their games." She let loose a dreamy sigh. "Thomas Muller is so hot ... too bad he's married though."

One of the other girls overheard her. She had the whole Gothic punk look going - black spiked hair with purple highlights, lip piercing, excessive eye liner and black fingernails. She hollered out to the rowdy boy,

"Hey Donovan! Leila wants that shirt! Wanna take up the challenge?"

The brunette blushed. So he was Donovan.

Donovan looked and let out a snicker. "Butt out, Roxy. This is man stuff, not your girly games. I'd bet not a single one of you can reach the top without getting at least someone's help." He chortled out loud with his friends.

Now that was just mean. Evidently Roxy thought the same, because she stood up angrily, gave him the finger and said, "Why don't you show some respect you son of a - "

She never got to finish, because I stood up and went, 

"Wanna bet?"