My New Old School (Part 1)

As I sat in the car with my mom, aunt and brother , I wiped my sweaty palms off on my skirt. Ma and Pika had come to drop me and my brother off at school on our first day this year. It is my brother's old school and my new but old school. The whole idea is very mixed up- I'd studied in this school up until the beginning of third grade, when we were whisked away to England because of my father's job. When we came back, I had already been replaced, but my brother got a place in the school. I had to spend a year at another school before I did too, but at a cost. I no longer belong to the yellow house as I did before- now it is the blue.
As the traffic moved along at snail speed, I glanced at my watch several times a minute. We were going to be late. I was going to be late on my first day of school. Talk about bad first impressions. I tried to push this thought out of my head by thinking about my friends. How many would I remember? More importantly, how many would remember me? It had been three years, after all.
Finally, we reached the gates. I held my breath. It looked exactly like I remembered. At the front, was written: VIDYANIKETAN SCHOOL in big, bold letters. Vines crawled up the pale yellow walls and trees loomed over the sides. The huge field was visible behind. It had always looked more like a summer camp than a school.
I said good bye to Ma and Pika and stepped past the gate. A weird kind of excitement filled me and I wanted to squeal. If I recalled correctly, my classroom would be to the right, then left and straight down the corridor. I had always loved the fact that the corridors on the ground floor had no railings separating the building from the field. It was as if they trusted us to not  run off between classes. Sweet of them.

I was right! The class room was there! I looked up at the placard above the door. It read 7B. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath in and knocked twice. The door opened inwards.
The tallish teacher with wide-ish features at the door studied me. I couldn't tell what she was thinking.
"New girl, is it?" she quizzed.
Annoyance built up inside me. I hated being called the new girl. It had happened to me all of last year and all of my first year at the British school. It was as if I was helpless and clueless and didn't know anyone or anything. I tried to push aside the irritation and nodded at the teacher. She gestured for me to enter the class. Thirty five eyes bored onto me. I tried to remember the names and faces. I could almost hear their minds trying to figure out who I was. Then, the confused look on one of the boys' faces cracked into a smile of pure realisation.
"It's the Fainting Girl!" he exclaimed.
It was very hard resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I had hoped people had forgotten about that. It wasn't exactly something to be remembered by...

To Be Continued...