I can still remember the weight of the blazer on my shoulders, the heat of the woolen bowler hat on my head. Shoes like cement on my feet, slowing me as I clomped down the stairs that first day, terrified I would topple. And I remember everyone standing there at the bottom. Barry with his cardboard camera, my red-and-gold backpack at his feet, and Chrissy just behind him, her mouth smiling but her eyes confused. Mary looking like she’d rather be anywhere but there. And Danny at the back, his cheeks puffed out with the effort of not laughing.
I’d never had a uniform before. There’d been one at the comp, but no one had ever bothered wearing it. I’d caught Mary rolling her eyes the day we came back from town, Barry’s boot stuffed with fancy carrier bags. Blazers and jumpers and regulation shoes. Charcoal-colored tights for the cold, white socks in the summer. A whole kitbag for sports—gym knickers and netball skirts, polo shirts, swimsuits, a rubber cap that Danny said made me look like a human condom. The only thing his school insisted on was a gray jumper with their logo on the front. Danny had a whole pile of them. Mary always managed to get hold of second-hand ones off the locals in the pub.
We stood around awkwardly for a while as Barry snapped photos, directing various poses that everyone ignored. As we turned to walk out to the car, I felt Chrissy grab at my arm, pull me away. She lifted a hand, touched my cheek, and I leaned back in surprise.
Good luck, love.
You not comin?
Me? She made a sound like a laugh that had hit the wrong note. Nah, not fer me, somewhere like that. Don’t want to be showin yer up now, do I?
I looked at her then, really looked at her. Words spun in my head, a yearning to tell her that I understood, that I knew she only wanted to make things better. I should have told her I was proud of her, that she was cleverer than anyone I knew, that nothing she did could ever show me up. But instead I just nodded. See yer later then, I said.
Barry and I sat waiting in the overheated reception area, sweat pooling in my pits, the box pleats of my skirt creasing under my knees as he fumbled blindly through a stack of paperwork. The woman at the desk peered at us over the top of her glasses, patting her pouf of blond hair every few seconds like a nervous twitch. She thought I hadn’t clocked her staring, hadn’t seen how she tugged at the neckline of her expensive jumper as she eyed us with bewilderment, scanning me up and down like she was looking for faults.
Eventually Mrs. Herrington arrived, smiled in that fake way, before checking with the lady at the desk that Barry’s payments were up to date.
Yes, yes, all present and correct, Barry laughed jovially, rocking back on his heels. The two women eyed him with thinly veiled disdain, and I felt a strange rush of protectiveness flush my cheeks.
Well, it looks like we’re all done here, yapped Mrs. Herrington. If you’d like to follow me, Jennifer, I’ll escort you to your form room.
The two of us walked through the maze of corridors, her a few strides ahead and me trying my best to keep up. At one point I tripped, catching the clunky sole of my shoe with my other foot. She didn’t react.
We stopped outside a large dark-wood door and she rapped on it abruptly before turning the brass handle. Thirty heads swiveled toward us, the sound of chair scrapes filling the air as each of the girls got to their feet.
Good morning, Mrs. Herrington, they chanted in unison. She nodded at them approvingly.
Good morning, girls. You may be seated.
The girls moved as one, quiet and deft and orderly, their eyes boring into me as I stared back, my chin high. They sat me next to a girl called Agnes, three rows from the front. She glanced at me with her lips pursed as I took my seat, her eyes snapping open and shut like a camera taking a shot, before turning back to the front desk.
My form tutor was called Miss Bell. A young, solid, bookish type with a soft Scottish accent and a deep dimple in the center of her chin. She made a big deal about introducing me, giving everyone this long spiel about welcoming new members of our school community, how much we can all learn from one another, how they were all looking forward to getting to know me better. Eventually she stopped talking, looked at me expectantly. I stared back at her mutely, unsure if she’d asked me a question.
Could you tell us a little bit about yourself? she asked, slowing her words as though addressing someone who spoke a different language, her gaze curious. The girls in the rows in front of me swerved round in their seats, watching, waiting. Do you live locally? In the village perhaps?
I shook my head. No, I said eventually. Leeds. Except then I remembered that wasn’t true anymore, but by the time I could correct myself I’d become aware of the noises, the swallowed hiccups and nasal sniggers. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Agnes shift her books a few inches toward the other side of the desk, angling her chair away from me.
When the bell rang for the next lesson I hung back, watching as the girls stood up, filing silently toward the door and assembling themselves into an orderly line. I joined the end, behind a pretty brunette whose hair swung in a fat ponytail.
At break time I stood alone at the side of the yard, its edges framed by manicured lawns. There were tennis courts at the far end and what looked like the indoor-pool building from the brochure. At my old school, break had meant hanging round the back of the bike sheds, sharing half a cig between a bunch of you and talking about who fancied who, watching the occasional scrap or getting into one yourself. It wasn’t like that here. The girls idled languidly in their cliques, all clean hair and straight teeth, swapping stories of summer breaks in second homes, holding out slender forearms to compare shades of bronze.
Three of them were watching me from the steps leading back into the main building, thinking I hadn’t noticed. In the end I eyeballed them back. What? I mouthed. They seemed surprised at first, turning in as though to pretend they hadn’t been looking. Only the brunette with the ponytail held my gaze. She must have said something to them because they made their way over to me, the ponytail flanked by a blonde with a sharp bob that swung round her jaw, and a wiry girl with narrow eyes and mousy hair pinched into a plait.
All right? I said as they reached me. The three of them exchanged glances, smirked. The blond one spoke first, her angular face fixed on me, her eyelids fluttering as she looked me up and down. Hello, she said. Jennifer, isn’t it?
Yeah, I said. I get called Neef, mostly, but—
Pardon?
Neef. That’s me nickname.
Silence.
But you can call me Jennifer, if that’s better.
Another loaded glance, another round of barely concealed smirks before they remembered their bought-and-paid-for manners and introduced themselves. Eloise, Rebecca, Frances. I nodded at each of them and they gawped back at me.
Do you know anyone who goes here then? Eloise asked.
No. I don’t.
You sound like you’re from Leeds, she said, her ponytail swinging from side to side, a note of mocking in her voice.
I pressed my tongue against my teeth, trying to quash the tightness in my throat. That’s cos I am.
She nodded at me slowly, taking me in with that sly smile, until Frances spotted another girl they’d not seen all summer, and hadn’t she got fat and did you hear what happened to her poor mother and let’s go and say hello to her, shall we? I watched them turn on their heels, forgetting about me in an instant. So poised, so sure of their place in the world, so gilded by the privileges bestowed on them.