It felt like all eyes were on me as I walked through the
front gate, past the lady teacher who was checking that skirt lengths were
acceptable. I knew her of course, she had been my form tutor in years 10 and
11, but she didn’t make eye contact. Perhaps she hadn’t seen me?
I walked down the side of the main building with the
usual crowds of youngsters aimlessly scuttling around. Not a familiar face in
sight which was fine by me. Then round the corner and the Sixth Form Centre
came into sight. Faces that I recognised but nobody seemed keen to acknowledge
my arrival. Why should they? They had no idea what was going on inside my head.
Sharp left, down the corridor to the second door. Deep
breath. Emily, my best friend, was in her usual place in the front row with an
empty space beside her. My space, the space that had been mine before I became
an orphan. An orphan, a word I was to hear so often in the weeks and months
that followed.
The room fell silent. Nobody wanted to look at me in case
they had to say something. So I sat down and Emily slipped her hand into mine.
“Oh Sally, I’m so very sorry.”
The silence was broken by the noisy arrival of my form
tutor. He was one of those teachers who seemed to get on fine with the boys but
who found dealing with girls put him well outside his comfort zone.
He took the register in his normal slightly
over-officious way. He did make the effort to make eye contact with me but
rather spoilt the effect by then saying, “Nice to have you back” as if I had
been off with a cold.
My head was spinning and my brain and my body seemed to
be several metres apart. It was a good job that I had a free lesson – sorry private
study – on my timetable because counting to ten would have been beyond me at
that stage.
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