CHAPTER 2
1226 Words
The kitchen smelled faintly of eggs and toast, but the scent barely reached Deborah. She sat at the table with her arms crossed, eyes fixed on the window where sunlight spilt across the tiled floor. Sandra crept around the counter, stirring eggs as if the soft rhythm might soothe the tension hanging between them.
“Are you ready for your first day?” Sandra asked, keeping her voice light.
Deborah didn’t respond. She stared harder at the floor.
“You’ll need to leave soon,” Sandra tried again. “I can drive you. It’ll be easier.”
“I can take a taxi,” Deborah said flatly.
Sandra shook her head. “No. I’ll drive you. It’s simpler.”
Deborah finally looked up, almost suspicious. “You really want to?”
Sandra hesitated for a moment too long. “Of course. I just… want you to be okay.”
Before Deborah could answer, her father walked in, tie loosened, coffee steaming in his hand. “Everything set?”
“Yes, Garrison. I’ll drive her,” Sandra replied quickly.
Deborah said nothing. She grabbed her bag and stood. If Sandra wanted to play the helpful stepmother today, Deborah wasn’t in the mood to argue.
---
The ride was quiet. Sandra hummed softly to fill the silence, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel. Deborah sat still, hands folded in her lap, watching unfamiliar streets pass by—clean sidewalks, trimmed lawns, houses standing in perfect rows.
“Will I find my way?” Deborah asked finally.
“Yes. I’ll drop you at the gates,” Sandra answered.
Soon the school came into view—elegant stone buildings, tall windows reflecting the sun, ivy climbing the walls in perfect lines. Students in polished uniforms gathered in clusters, chatting as they headed toward the entrance. Everything gleamed.
Sandra parked. “I’ll wait until the bell rings,” she said, offering a small smile.
Deborah didn’t respond. She stepped out of the car, the crisp air brushing her face. She smoothed the grey sweater tucked neatly into her navy pleated skirt and adjusted her ponytail. She’d picked the outfit carefully—calm, neat, nothing loud. Something that let her blend in.
The stone steps echoed softly beneath her loafers as she approached the entrance.
And then she saw her.
A girl with a clipboard, bright-eyed and smiling like she’d been waiting all morning.
“Hi! You must be Deborah—the new girl?” she called.
Deborah paused. “Yes.”
“I’m Jane. I’ll be your student guide today.” Her voice was warm without being pushy. “I’ll help you find your classes so you don’t get lost.”
“Thanks,” Deborah murmured.
Jane fell into step beside her, her smile gentle. “Let’s start with your locker.”
---
Sunlight poured through tall windows as they walked the hallways, the polished floors reflecting patterns of gold. Bulletin boards displayed club events, art projects, and announcements typed so neatly they looked printed by machines.
“That’s the main library,” Jane said, gesturing toward a glass-panelled doorway. Inside, students studied quietly under soft light. “If you ever need peace, it’s perfect.”
Deborah peeked in. It felt like a sanctuary.
Jane continued, “Over there are the science labs. The teachers are great, but they don’t play.”
Deborah watched a group of students pass by with lab folders, laughing. Everything was orderly, intentional—so different from her old school where everything felt cramped and noisy.
Jane noticed her silence. “It’s overwhelming at first. But you’ll find your rhythm.”
As they turned a corner, another girl leaned against a locker, clipboard in hand, ponytail messy and loose.
“Hey! You must be Deborah,” she said with an easy smile. “I’m Mia.”
Jane stepped aside. “Mia’s also a guide. She’ll take over from here—I have to run.”
Deborah nodded, a little relieved. Jane had been steady, but Mia’s energy was softer, calmer.
“Let’s get you to your locker and then your first class,” Mia said, leading the way.
Deborah placed her bag in the empty compartment, the metal cold under her fingers.
“English is first,” Mia said. “The teacher’s nice. I’ll walk you.”
---
The classroom smelled of paper and polished wood. Students murmured as they found their seats. Deborah hesitated at the door.
The teacher looked up. “Ah! A new student.” Her smile was warm. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”
Deborah swallowed. “I’m Deborah.”
“Lovely to have you. Sit anywhere you like.”
Deborah chose the middle—far from the front, but not hiding either.
Class passed in a blur. Her gaze occasionally drifted around the room: sunlight warming the desks, students exchanging quick smiles, the quiet scratch of pens on paper. Nothing chaotic. Nothing cruel.
When the bell rang, Deborah gathered her things and stepped into the crowded hallway.
---
Through the moving crowd, she spotted Mia waving from the far end.
“Deborah! Over here!” Mia called softly.
Deborah walked toward her, relieved to see a familiar face—one that didn’t want anything from her.
“Lunch?” Mia asked.
Deborah nodded, and they made their way to the cafeteria.
It was huge—bigger than she’d imagined—with tall windows spilling sunlight across rows of tables. Students filled the room with chatter and clattering trays.
Mia led her to a quieter corner. “Sit here. Less crowded.”
Deborah settled down carefully. She watched students with designer bags chatting loudly, while others with simpler lunches whispered among themselves. Everything felt balanced, diverse—not like her old school where the loudest voices swallowed the rest.
“So…” Mia asked gently, “how’s it going?”
“It’s… different,” Deborah said.
Mia smiled. “It always is at first. But you’ll find where you fit.”
Deborah stared at her food, thinking about the people she once called friends—people who never really saw her, only the version they liked. Here, she felt almost invisible, but in a way that didn’t hurt.
“You don’t have to rush anything,” Mia added. “Just be you.”
Something warm flickered faintly in Deborah’s chest. She didn’t smile, not fully—but she didn’t feel as heavy.
When the bell rang, Mia stood. “I’ll guide you to your next class.”
Deborah followed, feeling steadier than she had that morning.
---
The drive home was just as quiet. Sandra glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
“You survived your first day,” she said softly. “How was it?”
“It was fine.”
“Did you meet anyone?”
Deborah hesitated. “Maybe.”
Sandra didn’t push. “You’ll tell me more later?”
Deborah didn’t promise. But something inside her—small, faint—noticed that Sandra’s concern wasn’t sharp or fake today.
As she stepped out of the car and walked toward the house, Deborah adjusted her backpack and drew a slow breath.
She wasn’t ready to open up. She wasn’t ready to belong.
But for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could exist somewhere without collapsing.
And for now…
That was enough.
- Writer
