Page 2 of Diving In
“Sam Fletcher,” I tell her when I reach the front of the line.
She ticks my name off the list. “Welcome to St Peter’s, Sam. You’re in 7B—down the corridor, second door on the left. Desks are alphabetical, lockers too. Everything’s labelled.”
“Thanks.” I adjust my bag as I wander into the room. I find my spot next to one of the only other students who’s already here, the girl I spotted outside the school gates a few minutes ago. She has a chestnut ponytail and a smattering of summer freckles sprinkled on her nose. She’s organising her pencil case with the sort of focus that would usually belong to someone solving a world crisis.
I slide into my seat, unsure of what to say. I thought I’d have at least ten minutes to mentally prepare myself for my first interaction. She glances over, flashing a friendly smile. Crap, now I need to talk; I can’t just sit here in silence until the teacher arrives. I try to subtly check my watch. Maybe I didn’t think through the whole arriving early thing properly. My heart starts to pick up, pounding uncomfortably in my chest, which suddenly feels tight.
“Hi, I’m Sam,” I blurt out before I fully freeze.
“I know,” she grins, nodding towards the name tag on my desk. I feel my face getting hot. How do I save this situation?
I chuckle awkwardly. “Detective work, huh?”
“Call me Nancy Drew.”
I blink. “Nancy who?”
“You seriously don’t know NancyDrew? Books? TV show?”
“Uh… no. I don’t really watch TV.” Scratching my neck, I grimace again at the damp collar.
She rolls her brown eyes, but in a way that makes it feel more playful than mean. “I’m Kath.”
“Figured.” I point to her name tag, earning a laugh.
“Well, Fletcher and Ford. Looks like we’re stuck together,” she smiles. “My brother’s a few years above us and said they keep us in alphabetical order most of the year.”
We scan the room as people trickle in, the buzz of first-day energy filling the air. Even though we’ve just sat down, you can already tell who’s going to fit where. A cluster of boys slap each other on the back, talking loudly about playing football. A group of girls are already testing the limits of the no make-up rule with glossy lips. Kath fills my awkward silence, talking about her summer holiday visiting her Nan in Devon, her older brother Tom, his football obsession, and the book she was just reading. She waves and smiles at a few people as they enter the room. Apparently, most people from her primary school came here, meaning that this is a sea of familiar faces for her. Kath starts telling me people’s names, but even as she says them I almost immediately forget.
The room fills quickly, the noise rising until a teacher walks in. “Welcome, Year Sevens!” He smiles from the front. “I’m Mr Myers. I know some of you are nervous—that’s perfectly normal. But I promise you’ll have a great time here.”
He launches into an explanation of timetables and directions to the sports fields, but I barely catch half of it before the bell rings. Kath’s already on her feet, humming as she double-checks our timetable for the fifth time.
“Maths first.” She sounds weirdly pleased.
“Are you a maths genius?” I really don’t know that many people who would be excited by maths.
Sheshrugs. “It’s fun.”
“She’s a maths genius,” a tanned blonde girl, who I think Kath said was called Claire, chimes in from behind us. Kath blushes and looks away.
When we get to the classroom, the teacher announces we’re sitting alphabetically. I hide a smile, and Kath catches my eye and mouthstold you so. Honestly, there are worse things than being seated next to someone who knows half the class and all the school tricks. The cycle repeats itself in geography an hour later, and I watch for the second time as Kath neatly arranges everything from her pencil case along the top of our shared desk, including her impressive range of highlighter colours.
By the time the bell rings for break, I’m trailing behind Kath and her friends, trying to figure out if I should make an excuse to leave or if I should stay with them. I feel like a stray puppy they’ve accidentally adopted.
“Let’s sit by the benches,” Claire suggests, linking arms with Kath and pulling her along. I continue to loiter.
“Come on, Sam,” Kath calls me.
Thank god. I don’t think I’d actually be able to find the next lesson without her. A few others from our class follow the pair of them. A tall dark-haired guy called Josh who chatted to me a bit before geography, and another shorter boy, who’s managed to spill ink from his fountain pen on his shirt. Ben maybe? I don’t know. There are too many new names.
“So, Sam.” Claire leans forwards, propping her chin in her hands. “Tell us about yourself.”
“Uh, I like swimming,” I say, feeling a bit lame.
Kath nods. “Me too.”
“Please,” Claire snorts. “You love every sport—netball, running, cross-country, swimming…”
