The John Hughes Club

Chapter One

After being here at Archleigh High for three days, seven minutes and twenty two seconds, this is to be my first non-uniform day.

While the school is raising worthwhile funds for a local food bank, I'm getting to see how far I can push this whole non-uniform thing.

Being the new girl will more than likely get you stared and whispered at, being the new girl in her funky goth gear, certainly gets you stared and whispered at. It's not that I'm wanting the attention, quite the opposite. I'm hoping that if I give them something worthwhile to see, that they'll quickly tire of me being the object of their unnecessary attention. I can't say every kid in this school is like that, but annoyingly, a lot are. So, this is me making an unsaid statement...yeah, this is who I am!

I'm sure that once their youthful eyes have gotten their gothic fill of me, they'll soon find someone else to stare at. It all gets rather tedious when kids just keep watching your every new and unfamiliar move, instead of actually just saying hi. In the brief time that I've been a pupil in this school, only one girl has approached me and been properly welcoming. With her kinky coily hair and an endearing lisp, Ella and her warm personality is someone I think I'm going to really like. I don't make friends all that easily, so I'm grateful for the occasional friendly smile and the cheery chatter that Ella sometimes gives to me. It's not that I'm an unfriendly person, it's just in my fifteen years of life, a lot has happened to me; things that your average fifteen year old might not understand. Tragedy has shaped my teenage self. I think it's matured me beyond my years, which is why I sometimes find it hard to connect with those who are the same age as me. What most fifteen year old girl's like, I don't. At my old school, I could count on one hand those who were my closest friends.

With them, I was just me.
With them, they understood me.

They understood why I was the way I was. They knew me, knew my past, which was oddly comforting. God, I'd give anything to be with my friends again. I'd give anything to be back at my old school—strolling down its familiar corridors with my distressed-looking ripped jeans on, my bell sleeve mesh top and my scuffed and faithful Dr. Martens boots. Sadly, because of an impending divorce between my parents, those days have now very much gone. The many years of irreconcilable differences between my mum and dad, is now the reason why I am here; wearing the blackest makeup a girl can find, strolling down a corridor that I don't want to be strolling down, in a school that I don't want to be in. Not even my mum is now talking to me after our argument this morning. When she saw what I was wearing to school today, her disapproving look came well before her disapproving words did. But then again, mum and I argue a lot, and she disapproves of me a lot...so what's one more day of disapproval, right? To be honest, I don't think my mum even wants me here with her. If we'd both had a choice in the matter, I'd be with my dad, for sure.

I know that.
She knows that.

Unfortunately, that just wasn't possible. Dad's a lorry driver who's carrying goods all over the UK, who is often away overnight. When mum and dad finally separated, it was decided that it'd be better if I stayed with mum for the majority of the time, only staying with dad when he was home. That arrangement was working out okay while we were living in the family home, until mum decided that she wanted to sell up, give dad his half from the sale of our home, then move to be nearer to her parents, here in Minehead. I love my grandparents, I used to love visiting them, but I don't love living in this coastal town. I never wanted to move from Stratford-upon-Avon. I wanted to remain with my dad. Mum and I have never really been close. I've never had the same bond with her, that I share with my dad. Even as a young girl, it was to my dad I would go to if I had a bad dream. If I fell over, I'd run to him. When I wanted to play, I'd ask him. Yeah, our bond is a strong one. Dad is cool. He's hard working, self-motivated, loyal and loving. More importantly, when my little sister died; he still loved me. Mum, she found it hard to do that. I don't think there was any love left inside of her for me after the death of Anais. Everything dad and I share, mum shared with her. When she lost that, anything she felt for me; she also lost.

"Niiiiiiiice makeup...if you were going to an Halloween party!" Is sarcastically thrown in my direction from a sneering girl that I've seen in a few classes of mine. I think her name's Ros, she's one of the leading starer's and whisperer's—pettily bitchy with it, too.

Her comment gets a few agreeable sniggers, but I choose to ignore them all, making my way to my tutor room. Which I'm rather pleased about; it's to be the first time I'm actually knowing where I am going, rather than stumbling into either the wrong classroom, a smelly loo or a storage cupboard. As I'm ignoring Miss Petty Panties behind me, I feel something being pushed into the back pocket of my jeans.

"Ignore them," says the boy who has just come up behind me and shoved that something into my pocket. As he's striding on past me, a confident smile is there on his face and there in his booted feet.

Confused and slightly startled, I'm watching him walking on further down the corridor, while I'm pulling out whatever's been shoved into my pocket. Scrawled in black handwriting, it says:

The John Hughes Club – Every Wednesday at lunchtime in the media room :)

Staring down at the slightly crumpled up piece of paper, I'm wondering why it's been stuffed into my pocket in the first place. I don't know this boy. I only know his name is Chas, just because I've heard him be called that during a science lesson we were both in the other day. Of course, I've also seen him around as well, but we've never actually spoken. On the few occasions that I have seen him, I'll admit, he's held my attention for a few seconds longer than any of the other boys around here. He's quietly interesting, loudly individual. With hair as dark as tar, he gels the longer lengths of his fringe into a cool quiff – making him look like a teenager just walking away from the set of a 60s film. I also haven't failed to notice how he often walks with maturity, and smiles with an unsaid wisdom. Yeah, he's kind of got himself noticed by me. Regardless of his intriguing first impressions, that still doesn't explain why he's just shoved that note into the depths of my back pocket.

"Mindy?"

Great, now I'm getting the same disapproving look that my mum was giving me earlier on. "Yes, Mrs. Woolington?" I ever so sweetly ask, my matte black lips curling into an angelic smile for my new head teacher.

"My office...now!"

Yup, I think I've definitely pushed the non-uniform thing waaaaaaaay too far!