I continue my way down the long hall, turn a corner, and finally I’ve reached the three hundreds. I take another look at my time table. I’ve got three classes before the mid-morning break, C.S.P.E, English, and then Mathematics. I open my locker and load all the books I don’t need into it, trying to stack them as neatly as possible.
As I close my locker I hear a curious voice ask, “Who are you?”
I turn and find a girl with short dark red hair, what do you call that colour? Auburn? Yes, auburn hair, and she’s got black eyes and freckles sprinkled over her cheeks and nose. She’s looking at me expectantly.
“I’m n-new.” I reply.
She grins. “My name’s Caroline, you can latch onto me for the day if you’d like. I don’t mind showing you the ropes.”
“Thanks, that’d be great.” I tell her. “I’m Flo.”
“You’re in fifth year right, what’s your first class?”
“I’ve got C.S.P.E first, but I don’t know what that is.”
“You’re in with me then. C.S.P.E means Civic, Social and Political Education.” Caroline answers, her words are mildly sarcastic.
“Oh, I-I-I s-see.”
She smiles. She must have noticed my stammer, but is nice enough not to mention it. Caroline’s aura is a shimmering yellow, that kind of colour normally indicates a sharp mind and an interest in knowledge. I like her already. There’s also a hint of sadness nestled deep within her, a long felt grief that won’t ever go away. I wonder what it could mean. It makes me want to get to know her better so that I can discover the source of her anguish.
“Come on then,” she says, leading the way down the hall.
As we walk I tell her how I moved here to live with my grandmother because my dad got a new job in Australia and I didn’t want to move so far away. I know it’s a terrible lie, but I’d rather not get into the fact that he’s a low life, abusive, drug dealing heroin addict who couldn’t give a crap whether I lived or died.
Inside of the classroom the rest of the students are taking their seats and chatting with each other. The teacher has already arrived and is writing something in chalk on the blackboard. She looks about forty, has short pixie cut hair and is wearing a beady green hippie dress and brown leather sandals. The desks in the classroom are arranged into a circle, with the teacher’s larger desk at the head of the circle. Cynically, I wonder if this is supposed to symbolise equality. I’m just about to follow Caroline and take a seat beside her when the teacher turns around and clocks me. She smiles widely.
“Hey, are you the new girl I was told about, Florence?”
“Y-yes.” I answer, a bit grudgingly. I’d been hoping to slip in undetected.
“Wonderful!” she exclaims, the rest of the students have gone quiet and taken their seats, watching the exchange between myself and the teacher. “My name is Miss O’Brien, welcome, please do introduce yourself to everybody before we begin.” She makes a hand gesture for me to stand at the front of the room.
Christ on a bike. I take a deep breath and try to speak but the words won’t come out. My heart sinks. These are the times when my stammer is at i
ts worst. I don’t just mess up the words, I can’t get them out at all. I breathe slowly, deeply, and try again, but nothing. At this point the entire room is staring at me, probably wondering if I’m some sort of defective. Another deep breath. Again, no words will come. And another…
Finally I manage to say, “H-hi, m-m-my n-n-n…” Come on just say it. I get stuck on the word “name”. The harder I try the worse it gets. I continue, “N-n-n…” I sigh and breathe. Crinkle my forehead in frustration. My cheeks are blazing red. I look to Miss O’Brien, realisation must have hit her that I’ve got a speech impediment because she finishes for me.
“Class, this is a new student, her name is Florence Vaine. I hope you’ll all be very welcoming. Please take a seat where ever you like Florence.”
I nod and take a seat on the left side of the circle beside Caroline, she smiles at me sympathetically. The rest of the students are grinning and whispering and looking at me through judgemental eyes. Tears and embarrassment catch in my throat. This is definitely not the start I’d been hoping for.
Miss O’Brien speaks again, “I’ve printed out some notes for this class, but I left them in the office. I’ll be back in two minutes, no talking please, read over last week’s homework until I get back.”
Caroline nudges me in the side and whispers, “Are you okay?”
I manage a quick nod, and then begin meticulously fidgeting with the hem of my top.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you have some kind of stutter, or, um, what do you call it, a stammer?”
“Yes I have a-a s-stammer, it’s only this bad when I’m stressed.”
“Oh I see.” There’s pity in her expression, and I don’t like it one bit.
A second later I hear somebody say mockingly, “H-h-hello m-m-my n-n-name is F-F-Florence,” and then the whole class starts laughing. I look around the room for the first time. The person who’d mocked me is a boy with expertly tousled blond hair and a blue Abercrombie t-shirt on. I should complement him on the originality of his joke.
“Don’t mind them,” Caroline continues to whisper to me. “Every school has to have a variety of dick heads to make life just that much more painful for the rest of us, you know.”