Interschool clubs? Kill me now.
I'm fine with that school that I have, thank you very much. I don't need the opportunity to meet people from other schools.
Mrs. Weyven continued prattling onwards:
"We've been told to tell you that there are four available clubs: sport, literature, computer-studies, and Maths. There's a maximum number of students allowed, so choose one quick before you get swept into a club that you don't like. Clubs are compulsory, girls, and it's so you get to mingle with students from other schools. There, I thought you'd be excited."
"Not as much as you, Miss," I mumbled to myself. It was true, however, that the other girls in my Tutor group were giggling and chatting to themselves like this new revelation was going to change their lives.
“Mother Mary’s college,” Mrs. Weyven went on, “will be happy to partner with St. John's school, York District School, Yvale Public School, and St. Peter’s boarding school. And yes, girls, there will be boys involved…”
The squeals that erupted around me were almost unbearable.
A minute later, whilst studying my timetable, and the boring day ahead, a sheet of paper floated onto my desk from the nearest occupied table, the one in front. Sophie grinned at me, and waved, and I politely smiled back, not caring much for the dyslexic dora.
I looked at the sheet and sighed. It was a list of the clubs, with various people’s names forming an untidy cue underneath.
No choice, hey?
Under the scrawled heading 'Computers' I wrote my name. There could be worse, I supposed.
For the remainder of the day, I was pretty restless. For some reason, all I could think about was heading home and going onto the computer.
During netball, I missed the round sphere three times; during maths, I stalled on every questions; my mind was definitely not here today.
It was surprising, and I suddenly began to get suspicious about why. Why did my heart seem to grow around this Cayden whom I barely knew? What was it about him that made me laugh? It was as though I'd never had any friends before. Granted, I did not possess the power to make friends- or to keep them- and it didn't help that my mother and I moved a lot, and that I was rubbish at keeping in touch with pen-friends and the like, either. I remember a lecture my mother gave once when I was a younger girl:
"You spend all your time on that silly computer. Don't expect to get friends, dear, if you can't tear yourself away from computer games. You know what? You are addicted."
It was not the first time she had split views from me, but that was the one that really hit home. As the storm of my temper brew inside me, I realised that I was never going to be her golden girl, never going to be the 'other daughter' she never had. I, with my electronic knowledge, had been the wedge that pushed my parents’ rocky relationship apart. No matter what I did, my mother would not be able to forgive me. She wasn't the forgiving type, after all, otherwise she would have been willing to let my father have me for the weekends.
I had told Cayden that it was not a big deal. But it was. It was a big deal, and it was ripping a hole inside my soul. Computers seemed to patch that up, but when I was away from them, the thoughts grew too loud and the pain too nasty again.
It was such a big deal that I spent the whole of Religious Education silently crying.