002

The next day when I woke up, I rolled over once and then got out of bed at the feet end, because there was no room at the sides. Hans’ and Hugo’s beds were there. I pulled my little suitcase out from under my bed and pulled it up onto the indigo blue covers. I didn’t have many clothes to choose from, but I wanted to look good on my first day at the new school. Luckily, I had had some extra English lessons in Holland, so I had a hope of understanding half of what they said.
In the end, I chose a casual dark blue blouse and simple skinny jeans with tall black boots that went over the sides and up to just under my knees, with an indigo cardigan to boot. That had been my favourite colour for years. Dad had probably known that when he chose the covers for me.
I found a door that led from our room immediately to the living room, so I took that and saw that Hans and William were already sitting at the table, fully dressed and with their hair combed. William looked up when he heard me opening the door and immediately said:
‘Hey, there’s our curly-head! You wouldn’t believe what’s for breakfast!’
He was tucking into a croissant, which surprised me. I had always thought that was French. Ah well. I sat down next to Hans and took a croissant from the pile in the middle of the table. It was lovely, with a crusty outside and a soft inside, and lots of butter that I’d put on myself. I just sat enjoying it.
It seemed like no time before it was eight o’clock; I had to go to school, and so did Hans. We were going to the same secondary school, while Hugo would go to Sinclair House primary School. He could leave at quarter past eight and still be in time. It was a pity we didn’t have our bicycles here yet, because now we had to take the bus.
Wearing our raincoats, (it was raining again), we left the house and stood waiting at the bus stop. After seven minutes, a bus came by. Cold and wet, we stepped into the bus, but then the misfortune stopped; the best seats were free. On the top floor, completely at the front, behind the big window so that we could see all of London. Sitting there, we watched the cars go by, the other buses, the few bicycles that rode past us, until Hans suddenly said, ‘We’ve gotta get out at the next stop.’
I pressed the button and we walked down the stairs to them bottom floor, where we stood waiting behind an old lady with a walking stick who kept coughing roughly. After a minute or so, the bus stopped and we got out after the lady. I checked my watch; it was eight twenty. We had to run.
Panting, we reached our school after five minutes. The doors were still open. We walked in and right through to where we saw the red-haired receptionist sit behind a glass wall in her room. She opened the window politely to let us through. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m Hans Nieuwkampen, and this is Manon Nieuwkampen,’ Hans told her. She checked her files and smiled at us.
‘Yes, that’s right. Well, Hans, you can just go to this classroom, you have French now,’ she gave us both a map of the school and pointed his classroom out for him, ‘and you, Manon, can just walk along this corridor to this classroom,’ she pointed it out, ‘you have art. Good luck!’
I was glad I had art. I enjoyed drawing, painting and all the rest. I was good at it, too. I had once made a beautiful drawing of Hans, sitting at the breakfast table eating his cornflakes, red hair shiny in the sun and sea green eyes shining and sparkling with the light. Every one of his freckles had been perfectly put down. I had had that picture in a frame above my bed in Holland. I hoped it had come over fine.
I waved slightly to Hans and then set off on a run towards the classroom. The corridor was empty; we were too late after all. I reached the door that I needed and knocked.
‘Come in!’ a female voice said from inside. I hesitantly opened the door. The woman standing in front of the wide classroom was beautiful; there was no other word for her. Her golden hair fell waist high and was a little wavy. Her eyes were deep, sparkling blue and her cheeks were rosy. Her lips were pink and perfect. She was about three heads taller than me, slim and with long legs. She was dressed to emphasize that beauty, with a tight skirt and a pink-red checked blouse that only had four buttons done up. Tall boots with laces made up the picture.
The class was different. Most of the children were boys; I could see that with one glance. I also noticed that most of the children were probably a head taller than me. There was only one empty seat, next to a tall girl with mousy brown hair up to her waist and glasses. I wanted to hurry over there, but the teacher called out. Her voice was beautiful, too.
‘Excuse me, but if I may ask, who are you?’ She fluttered her eyelashes expectantly.
Damn it, how did I tell her I was the girl that was supposed to be expected, Manon?
‘Erm … I’m Manon,’ I stammered. Realisation dawned on her perfect face.
‘Ah. Manon Nieuwkampen?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re the new girl, then?’
‘Erm … Yes.’
‘That’s lovely!’ She clapped her hands together, as if in delight. ‘You’ll love our school so much! You can sit right over there, next to Catalyn.’ She pointed to the seat that I had been heading to. I nodded and walked over there, with the eyes of all the children in my back – I hadn’t had time to count them yet.
I put my overflowing bag down, because I had had to take all my books, not knowing which ones I needed. Luckily Dad had already ordered them all. Catalyn looked at me with mild interest, and then let her eyes rest on her paper. I followed her gaze, and gasped. The dragon that she had drawn was so real, it was even better than my drawing of Hans at home. Beak wide open, fangs dripping with saliva, it seemed to come off the paper completely, maybe even in motion. I sat down beside her. The teacher smiled at me.
‘That’s right, dear, just sit down and relax. I’ll bring you a pencil and some paper, shall I? You can start off by drawing anything you like; I’ll be able to see what your abilities are. By the way, I’m Miss Russell, but you can call me Alice if you like.’ She smiled sweetly. I smiled back hesitantly and nodded. She bustled over to her desk and the class started to buzz with talk again. Catalyn looked up from her paper and smiled kindly.
‘Hey,’ she said, and I knew in that second that she would be my friend, and she would stay my friend forever. I smiled and gestured towards her dragon.
‘That’s really pretty, you know,’ I told her, and suddenly my English flowed perfectly.
‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘but the beak isn’t working out. Could you open your mouth wide?’
I knew for sure that she was cool then, even though she looked a little plain, and she was daring, at least. Who would ask somebody after they’d known them for half a minute to open their mouth wide so that they could copy it in a drawing? I obeyed, and her eyebrows deepened in concentration. Her pencil shot across the paper, and then Miss Russell turned up with some paper for me. I decided on drawing Catalyn whilst she was drawing, so that I could engrave her face in my memory. She had a slim face with a pointy chin, and her mousy hair was quite pretty if you looked at it for a long time. Her round, horn-rimmed glasses enlarged her chocolate eyes, and she had a slight blush on her cheeks. She had dark eyebrows and eyelashes. She was, in fact, very pretty, when you’d looked past the first impression.
After ten minutes, I had put the pencil outlines on paper, and I looked around for some watercolour paint. Catalyn pointed it out for me, in the faraway right corner. I stood up and got it, but when I came back, Miss Russell was standing bowed over my drawing, eyes wide and a shocked smile playing over her lips. She looked up when I walked over, and beckoned me to come quickly.
‘Manon, this is truly beautiful!’ She had a slightly Asian accent. ‘You have a great talent! Would you like to join our art club? It is this afternoon, in the classroom on the second floor… Catalyn will show you, she does the art club too. Would you please?’ She blushed a little more, her cheeks reddening slightly, making her even more beautiful. I nodded, and looked at Catalyn. She was grinning at me in encouragement; she obviously liked the club. I smiled up at Miss Russell and then turned back to my drawing. Catalyn was looking very pleased in the picture, just like the real Catalyn was, sitting next to me with her eyes on my drawing. I chuckled and handed it to her. ‘You can have it this way; I’ll go put the watercolour away.’ She looked delighted. I was sure I did too.
The rest of the day passed in a rush. I didn’t remember any of the names of the teachers, but I knew a few classmates by name now: Rebecca, Patrick, Lily. All three of them quite nice, but I liked Catalyn most and sat next to her in nearly every lesson. I soon found out that she was a little alone in the class – she didn’t mind always sitting next to me, and she never sat next to others. Because it was my first day, I was mostly just a new kid, an attraction to stare at. I didn’t care. I was already thinking about the drawing class.
At the end of the day, Catalyn walked to the classroom with me where the drawing club met each afternoon. She didn’t knock, just opened the door. I followed her in.