I.S.C.G

A month ago, I was invited to the International School for Child Geniuses. Obviously, I said yes. Although, I had to promise to my parents that I would put work in front of ballet.

Ballet is my passion, my hobby, my dream, my life, my everything. I have always wanted to become a prima ballerina. Ever since I can remember, I have been taking ballet classes with Madame Remboir on Saturday afternoons (3:15 until 6:15). When the offer came through about I.S.C.G, I was devastated that I would have to stop those classes. Luckily, they have a ballet programme here. So all I'm thinking when I pull that door is 'when are the ballet classes?' Oh, and also 'OH MY GOD THIS IS TERRIFYING GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!'

As I step into A413, my eyes firstly settle on who I suppose is the teacher. He has long brown hair tied up in a ponytail and small hazel eyes, like pin heads in his fat double-chinned face. I don't mean to sound rude, but that is my first impression.

"Ah-ha! Here she is," he says as I step inside, as if they've been waiting for me. "I'm Mr Pepper. You must be..." He scans a clipboard. "Alice?"
"Um, no," I stammer, "I'm Lola."
"Ah yes, of course. Take a seat Lola."

I walk between the rows of chairs and desks and search for an empty seat. Once again, I can sense everyone staring at me. I finally spot a chair, next to a girl with a neat brunette bob. As I take the seat, she smiles warmly at me. Reassured, I smile back. "My name's Charlie," She whispers. I smile again and nod as I feel it is not necessary to tell Charlie my name since she had probably heard me telling Mr Pepper my name was Lola.

When all the other students have arrived, I take out my timetable and my detailed school map (which looks a bit like the London Underground map, with little squares on either side of the tube lines) and start to navigate my way to Maths.