We join the throng and enter the school grounds, Morty immediately being told to tuck his shirt in by Mr Davison, the headmaster of this hellhole. He’s often found standing on the back gate at the start and end of the day, alongside a handful of other members from the school’s Senior Leadership team. Their jobs right now? Answer the concerns of parents, greet students and reprimand them for uniform violations.

Mr Davison turns his attention to me. “And Charlotte? What do you think I’m about to ask you to do?”

I sigh and pull off the soft grey hoodie that Katherine gave me for my birthday last year. The only useful present I got. Mr Davison smiled at me. “Thank you.”

Things could be worse I suppose. At least Mrs Crawley wasn’t handing out detentions on the first day back. Cagey old bat.

The rest of our morning free time passes as smoothly as possible, considering we’re trapped in this godforsaken prison. Me and Morty get our free school breakfast, which comprises two soft pieces of toast and a drink. Lukewarm water, ridiculously sweet tea or scalding hot chocolate. None of which are particularly appealing but say they say, beggars can’t be choosers.

We manage to avoid the wrath of Connor Shaw, Oliver Finch and Brooke Presley, all of whom would’ve had a field day if they saw my tattered shoes or James’s glasses or the new holes in Morty’s blazer. As pleasant as that was, I’ve been here long enough to know that it’s better to face them before school so we get left alone at lunch, rather than be harassed for the whole of lunch.

The bell finally rings, signalling the start of the day. 

Up the 2 flights of stairs in the immaculate looking building, with its freshly painted white walls (wonder how long that’s going to last) and the wide windows to outside. I swear the whole purpose of putting those in the atrium was to show everyone the freedom that they can’t have as they ascend or descend the main stairs. 

Each step feels as though I’m walking to my doom. I slowly trudge through the crowded hallways, hesitating before entering my form, 10C. Even from outside, I can see Danielle sitting on the front row just in front of Miss Neal, giggling with Sofia about something or other. About what exactly, I don’t know and I don’t really care.

My eyes linger on those ridiculously large hoop earrings, dangling from Sofia’s lobes. They sit under her braids but everyone can see them, it’s not even like she’s trying to hide her flagrant violation of the uniform policy. Naturally, her uniform is crisp and pristine, with a freshly ironed, new, white shirt and a blazer that screams “I got this custom made.” I can’t see under the table, and I’m not actively looking cause I’m not a creep. But I’d bet all my savings that she’s got her skirt rolled up so far that her ass is almost hanging out. Another uniform violation which she’s going to get away with.

Miss Neal exits the room to stand in the doorway, to greet students, as teachers are mandated to do. Her smile makes the pit of dread in my stomach recede slightly. The only good teacher in this school. “Good morning, Charlie. It is still Charlie, right?”

“Yep, still Charlie. Please tell me I have you for history this year. I don’t think I’d survive another year with Mrs Crawley.” I respond, my shoulders dropping a fraction.

“I’m not going to spoil anything, but I think you’ll like your timetable this year.” Miss Neal winks at me, which I interpret as ‘yes I do, but I’m not supposed to be sharing who’s on my registers.’

Another student in my form, Alfie Johnson, approaches and Miss Neal disengages me in conversation so she can greet the new arrival. 

I slip into the room, keeping my eyes trained on my seat and consequentially ignoring Danielle’s friendly smile and motion to come join her. I instead take my usual seat at the back of the room, as far away from the pair as possible. 

Meera Ali, probably the smartest girl in our year, is already in the seat next to mine. I don’t mind Meera. She’s sweet, usually keeps to herself and is always willing to aid me with the torment that is maths homework.

Miss Neal enters the room and opens her laptop, to take the register. “Good Morning 10C. It’s great to see everyone back here after a long, and hopefully restful summer.” She glances over at me when she mentions ‘restful summer’ before continuing on. “We’ll start by taking the register, then I have a few quick announcements and some timetables to hand out before we get into our welcome assembly.”

“Meera Ali?”

“Here.”

“Charlie Bell?”

I lean back in my chair a little as I respond. “Here.”

I notice Danielle’s brow furrowing and she leans over to Sofia, whispering something to her as Miss Neal continues with the register. I can only imagine Sofia rolling her eyes. Sofia waits until the register is over, before responding to Danielle, probably so she can talk loud enough for me to hear. “Have you seen the company she keeps? It wouldn’t surprise me if they’re influencing her.”

Danielle nods and says, a lot more quietly “I guess you’re right.” Her acceptance of Sofia’s answer stings more than it should. My fingers clench the worn fabric of my trousers as I count to 10 in my head. As much as I’d like to deck Sofia here and now, this isn’t the time or place.

Miss Neal begins giving the usual first day back speech, reaffirming the schools standards and behavioural expectations whilst she hands out the timetables. Sofia offers to do it for her but, thankfully, Miss Neal shuts her down politely. “Thank you for the offer. However, I think you’ll want to talk to Danielle about your new schedule right away, rather than wait because you’re handing out sheets.”

One look at my timetable and I can feel the familiar disappointment take control of my body. I slump in my chair as I look over the cursed piece of paper that shouldn’t hold as much significance as it does. Set 4 maths, set 4 English, set 4 science. At least I have History period 1 on a Monday and Period 5 on a Friday with Miss Neal. That could be worse. 

Alongside Maths, English, Science and History, I have French and Sport Science. And obviously the mandatory P.E, PSHE and R.E lessons.

I shove the stupid thing in my trouser pocket, my eyes straying to the front row, where Danielle has a smile plastered on her face, but it’s not real. When she’s really happy, the cutest little dimples appear when she smiles. She seems to be looking over Sofia’s timetable.

“Spanish? And combined science? GCSE R.E?” I can hear the strain in her voice as she attempts to cover up her dismay. “We don’t share a single class this year.”

Sofia, on the other hand, doesn’t seem so upset by this. She gently takes her timetable away from Danielle’s grip and neatly slides it into a folder in her bag. Her tone is unbothered and casual, almost dismissive when she speaks. “We’ll still be able to see each other at lunch and breaks between classes.”

Their conversation is ended by the shrill ring of the bell and everyone in the classroom gets up and flocks towards the exit. I squeeze through the crowd and find James, Morty and Katherine waiting outside. 

“Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence.” I nudge Katherine with my elbow before hugging her.

“I told you, the bus was late.” She responds, a smile tugging at her lips as she nudges back.

“I can’t believe you actually dyed your whole head of hair blue.” James points out, eyes slightly wide in disbelief.

“Mr Davison is going to have an aneurysm because of you.” Morty musses up Katherine’s hair. She just grins and attempts to reciprocate the gesture, although her short stature makes it extremely difficult for her.

We follow the flow of students towards the assembly hall, where teachers begin herding us into a single file line. All banter ceases the moment we step through the double doors of the main hall, which is also the assembly hall. 

Mr Davison is standing on the podium at the front, watching as students file into the seats. I could swear his eyes linger on us as we slip into chairs at the back of the room. The vein on his temple makes itself visible, but only if you know where to look.

I mean, we’re not exactly invisible anymore. Not with Katherine’s bright blue hair.

He drones on about how the expectations and how we must set ourselves “goals” and “be ambitious”. We should aim for the top and work hard. Then his attention turns to uniform, gaze settling on us. He completely skips over Sofia, with her flagrant violations sitting smugly in the front row.

Katherine, next to me, sits up a little straighter, her shoulders tensing when he mentions hair colour must be natural. My fingers twist in my trousers as the “no hoodies” rule is reaffirmed.

God, this is going to be a long year. I already know it.