St. Mallory's Forever!

5 - ABBY: "Awkward" Doesn't Even Begin To Cover It.

The title of this post just says everything.

I have not felt so utterly mortified in a very, very long time. Eugh, I feel like bludgeoning myself with a hockey stick. If there was a world record for Most Inexplicably Stupid Introduction Ever, I would have won it hands down.

And to think I'm supposed to be good with people.

~

The whole palaver started when we came down to meet the new girls. I think one of them must have arrived early, because I couldn't see any bags with her. That would be Helen, according to Don Pedro's data. She looked a little down, but in my experience that's not uncommon with new girls, particularly ones that haven't boarded before.

And this one was definitely a first-timer. Not being bitchy or anything, but that jumper she is wearing is not regulation. It's a cheap imitation from one of those prêt-a-porter shops. Must be a scholarship girl. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I hasten to add.

But she must have felt a little self-conscious. I gave her one of my best Welcome To St. Mallory's smiles and she just looked away.

The other girl was that foreign student the Don had told us about. Zoo-Anne.

I ask you. What a name! Matron and a driver were helping her unpack her suitcases from the back of the car outside. I say driver because he was wearing a uniform, like a chauffeur. That made me check the licence plates. And get this. Diplomatic Corps. Chinese Embassy. So Zoo-Anne must be the daughter of the Ambassador! Oh, yes! Something the Don doesn't know. That's got to be worth some brownie points when we meet up later for gossip exchange.

As Matron was busy with Zoo-Anne and the driver, I went over to Helen to try and say hello.

Mistake Number One.

"Hey! I'm Abby, nice to meet you."

"I'm Helen," the new girl mumbled, giving me a funny sort of wary look. "Are you in the Middle Fifth?"

"Yep! Been here four years and counting," I said in what I thought was friendly banter. "They'll let me out on parole soon if I'm good."

Helen didn't so much as crack a smile. I kicked myself mentally for making such a feeble attempt at humour and tried a different tack.

Mistake Number Two.

"So, which prep school are you from?"

Helen blinked at me like I'd just spouted something in Martian. "Prep school?"

"Primary school," I floundered. "Or whatever you call them." I didn't know how to explain what a prep school was – everyone knew what a prep school was!

Or so I thought.

"I'm from London." Helen seemed determined to avoid eye contact. The fringe helped.

"London? Really? Whereabouts?" Christie had overheard us and bounced over at the mention of her home city, gold earrings all a-jangle. Just to add, gold earrings aren't part of the everyday uniform, but we're allowed to sparkle a bit on Travelling Day.

"Wandsworth," muttered Helen, looking Christie up and down as if she might eat her.

"Oh? Which county is that in?" I asked innocently, conjuring up an image of some quaint rural village in the Chilterns. Well, somewhere rural Home Counties, anyway.

Helen looked at me like I'd just asked her which country we were living in. I just knew I'd said something stupid. But what? Luckily Christie was right behind me.

"Wandsworth? Could be worse. My dad owns a couple of shops near there, I think, though I've never been. We're more South Kensington way."

Okay, so Wandsworth is in London. So how was I supposed to know?

"I'm not that familiar with the Wandsworth schools," Christie offered by way of polite conversation. "Which one?"

"Chaucer," Helen mumbled.

Christie stared at Helen, her mouth opening and shutting but no words coming out. I in turn stared from Christie to Helen and back. I don't know a thing about London schools, but the Chaucer sounds pretty grand to me. No wonder Helen's on a sponsorship.

"The Geoffrey Chaucer?" Christie asked, finally finding her voice.

"England's greatest medieval poet," I said, determined not to appear completely ignorant. "My favourite's The Miller's Tale. What's yours, Helen?"

Helen shrugged. "Never read him. It's all gobbledegook, innit."

I literally took a step back at that. Did Helen just say The Canterbury Tales was "gobbledegook"? I took a deep breath and replayed the comment in my head. And did Helen just say "innit"?

I looked to Christie for some sort of explanation. When it came, I wished I hadn't.

"The Geoffrey Chaucer School is one of the capital's finest comprehensives," Christie said, her voice impeccably neutral, her eyes flashing warning signals at me.

I felt a horrible cringey blush creeping over my face. In all my years at St Mall's, and in all the cornucopia of people, I have actually never met a transfer from the State school system. I tried not to stare at Helen, but I couldn't help myself.

See, we're always hearing on the news how terrible the quality of education in State schools was. About stabbings and shootings and students running riot in the classroom – you know, the usual media horror-fest. And we're always being told how thankful we should be that we can afford to come to a great school like St Mall's.

The awkwardness at suddenly meeting someone who'd come from this supposed grunge-pit was almost as bad as the fact that both Helen and Christie were both looking at me expectantly.

What was I supposed to do, pull a rabbit out of a hat?

Thankfully, Matron came to our rescue just in time.

"Helen, this is Christie and Abby. They've both been here since Fourth Form, so they know how things work. Abby, would you mind looking after Helen while I help sort these bags out? There have been some mix-ups over in Main Office, and Helen's mum is a bit caught up."

Helen's mum is still here? Now that's what I call a mix-up! *Tries hard to keep a straight face.* Maybe she couldn't find her way out of the school gates. If you're from London I guess all this greenery and open space must be confusing.

"Of course, Matron," I said, forcing a smile. To Helen, "So ... do you want to show you around House a bit or something? D'you need any bags brought up or ... or anything?"

Helen shook her head and hid her eyes beneath her fringe. "Mrs O'Kallaghan showed me around earlier, and I've already unpacked my stuff."

And bang goes that plan.

"Ah. Okay then." I racked my brains. "So, want to head up to the corridor? I expect Mrs Trewell will be calling a House meeting shortly, that ought to explain most of the rules and stuff. Or do you want to just chill out for a bit?" *Insert montage of repeatedly bashing head into wall.*

Helen shrugged noncommittally, and I hovered ahead of her like a demented hummingbird as we made our way up the stairs. I don't mean to sound overdramatic, but I felt like someone had put my brain in a blender and set it on "scramble".

What on earth was I supposed to say to this girl? As far as I could tell we had nothing in common – I'd grown up just outside Cirencester, which is about as far removed from London as you can get! I've only been to London twice in my life, unless you count the Heathrow Airport departure lounge.

I didn't know a thing about the State school system, and I didn't want to risk asking any questions for fear I'd embarrass myself – or worse, make Helen think I was being nasty. So in the end we just sat in her cubie, me fidgeting awkwardly on the end of her bed and making the occasional feeble stab at conversation whilst stewing in nerves. I was almost relieved to hear that cursed buzzer calling us down to the dining room for supper. And I swear Helen seemed almost relieved to get away from me!

Worst. Introduction. Ever.