First Day at Weasley High
Amira's POV:
I should’ve stayed home.
No, seriously. The moment I stepped into that hallway, I knew I didn’t belong.
I was standing there, frozen in place, watching students move through the corridor like they were part of a perfectly rehearsed scene.
Laughing, chatting, leaning into one another as though they’d known each other all their lives.
Their voices echoed up the corridor, bouncing off the tiled walls, loud enough to drown out my thoughts. And there I was—just another new girl, caught in the middle of it all, denim shorts a little loose, glasses perched awkwardly on my nose. I'd been wearing glasses for as long as I could remember. They felt like part of my skin.
That, and the frizzy curls I’d tried to tame with half a bottle of leave-in conditioner this morning. Still didn’t work.
“Are you just going to stand there and gape all day?”
I flinched. Heart racing. I hadn’t even seen them walk up.
The girls laughed—sharp, amused, high-pitched. It wasn’t friendly. And somehow, their laughter echoed louder than the rest of the hallway.
“I—I’m sorry,” I said, lowering my head and trying to move past them.
“Come on,” one of them called, still giggling, her arm waving mockingly. “We’re just saying hi.”
I stopped, hesitant. Mistake.
“What’s that on your head?” She pointed at my curls. “Girl, your hair looks like someone microwaved a sponge.”
More laughter.
My throat tightened. I stared at the floor. If there was ever a time for it to open and swallow me whole, this was it.
Other students started slowing down, watching us. Whispers. Snickers. A few of them just stood there, wide-eyed, waiting for more drama.
“What the hell are you doing, Brielle?” someone snapped.
Another girl broke from the crowd. Confident steps. Short blonde hair, sharp as her voice.
“Oh Lexi—did you see her hair?” Brielle cooed. “It’s giving 'birds nest on a bad day.'”
Another wave of laughter.
My fists clenched. I could feel my face burning.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry here. Not now. Not on your first day.
“Shut the crap up.” The girl—Lexi—cut in, her voice like ice. She grabbed my wrist.
And just like that, she yanked me out of the crowd.
I followed her, not thinking, not speaking. Just breathing through the mess in my chest.
When we finally turned a corner, I looked up. She was taller—probably 5’9, towering over my 5’4 figure. Her face had that effortless kind of cool that didn’t need makeup. Just her sharp jawline and intense blue eyes.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Amira,” I said. “Amira Hart.”
“Lexi.” She smiled—and wow, even her teeth were perfect.
I smiled back, but it felt shy, tight. Like my face was still learning how to do it again.
“What grade?”
“Twelfth.”
She raised her brows. “No way. Same here. Come on, I’ll take you to class.”
We climbed the staircase. Lexi took the steps two at a time like she owned them. I tried to keep up without tripping over my nerves.
“What school did you transfer from?”
“Transverse High.”
“That’s the all-girls one, right?”
“Yeah.”
We stopped in front of a classroom door. She knocked twice.
“Come in,” a deep voice said from inside.
Lexi pushed the door open. A classroom full of eyes and noise. A man stood at the front, his glasses sliding low on his nose, and a shiny bald patch in the middle of his head catching the light like it had a life of its own.
We walked in and quickly found two empty seats near the middle. I sat down like someone trying not to break anything.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
Lexi gave a wink. “It’s nothing.”
“As I was saying…” the man’s voice boomed again.
Silence dropped like a curtain. I pulled out my notepad.
“Morphemes,” he barked, pacing the front of the room, “are the smallest units of meaning in a word. There are free and bound morphemes. Who can define a free morpheme?”
A hand shot up in front of us.
“Yes, Lesla.”
She stood and chirped out her answer, her voice firm and loud. “Free morphemes can stand on their own and still carry meaning, without prefixes or suffixes.”
“That’s word-to-word from the Grammer text." the man grunted. “Sit.”
Grumbling spread across the room.
“Is he always like that?” I whispered to Lexi.
“Always,” she said, barely looking up.
“Professor Looney. Don’t let the name fool you. He’s all bark, zero charm.”
I stifled a laugh.
She leaned closer. “And don’t get on his bad side. Trust me.”
I took that advice very seriously.
Professor Looney continued, “Bound morphemes, however, cannot stand on their own. They require prefixes or suffixes to form meaning. A morpheme, by definition, must always have meaning.”
Lexi raised her hand.
Professor Looney squinted. “What now?”
“I have a question.”
“We’re not doing questions today,” he snapped, brushing her off. His glasses slipped again.
Then, mercifully, the bell rang.
He scooped up his notes, muttered something none of us caught, and exited.
The classroom exploded into chatter.
“Next class is upstairs,” Lexi said, grabbing her bag.
“Where upstairs?”
“Third floor. You got your timetable?”
“Yeah, somewhere.”
We headed up another staircase. My legs were already feeling it.
The music studio looked nothing like the first classroom. Instruments hung from the walls—guitars, flutes, violins. A soft hum filled the space, like the walls were still holding onto the last song played.
We found two seats near the side.
“Who were those girls earlier?” I asked.
“Brielle and her gang?” Lexi chuckled. “Yeah. That’s a whole situation.”
“A gang?”
She noticed my alarm and grinned.
“Not that kind of gang,” she said, pretending to hold a gun. “More like the mean-girl-cheerleader type.”
“Oh.” I nodded. Still didn’t want any part of them.
“They’re loud. Petty. Super obsessed with popularity. Basically allergic to kindness.”
I said nothing. I didn’t want to sound bitter, but the sting from earlier still lingered.
Just then, the new teacher walked in. A woman. Stern face.
Long coat.
Sharp voice.
“Good morning, students.”
The class fell into silence instantly.
She started assigning us into groups. One group to handle instruments, the other to sing.
Lexi ended up in the instrument group. She chose the piano and played it like it was second nature. Fingers moving without thought, smooth and sure.
I sang. Quiet at first. Then louder, as the rhythm took hold.
We wrapped the session with Justin Bieber’s As Long As You Love Me. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fun.
Lexi looked over mid-song and smiled at me again.
And for a second, I forgot I was new. I forgot the laughter, the pointing, the hair comment.
I felt seen.
As we packed up, she leaned close and whispered, “You’ve got a good voice, you know?”
I blinked. “Me?”
She nodded.
I smiled again—less shy this time.
Maybe Weasley High wouldn’t be easy.
But it just might be interesting.
Especially now that I’d made a friend.
Or… something close.
