Eve felt oddly uncomfortable with her familiar, worn school bag slung over one shoulder, but not in her usual school uniform. Being in jeans and a t-shirt made it feel like a day trip, and the jeans were starchy and new, smelling strongly of shops cheap perfume.
'You'll be fine,' Mum said airily, waving her hands about. 'Enjoy yourself, darling.' With a carefully placed lip-sticky peck on the cheek, her mother was gone in a cloud of Dolce and Gabbana.
Eve picked her way through the school corridors, shoes squeaking loudly on the polished lino. Her mother had been late dropping her off, and told her just to go to the reception.
It was unclear where the reception was, and Eve peered warily through frosted windows to see the blurry outlines of classes in full swing.
As she rounded another locker-lined corner, a teacher looked up from the papers in his hand. 'Hey, you!' He called. 'Where's your hall pass?'
Trembling, Eve blinked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. 'N, no sir,' she murmered, unsure what a hall pass was.
'Why ever not?' Thundered the teacher, ruddy cheeks wobbling angrily. 'That'll be detention, young lady, unless you have some sort of reasonable excuse, hmm?'
Eve squeaked again.
'For God's sake, girl. What class are you skipping?'
'I'm not skipping any class, sir. I don't know what class I'm meant to be in.'
'Your not Hilda Biggins, are you?' Asked the teacher, peering at her. 'No. She's the only girl in school with short term memory loss, and so the only girl with an excuse.'
'No buts,' he commanded. 'Detention, young lady. What's your name?'
'Eve,' said Eve.
'Eve what?' He blustered, whipping out a notebook.
'Smith, sir. But sir-'
'Hush! Eve Smith, eh. Never heard of you girl. Join the chess club.' He tore off a page in the book and scribbled down her name, folded it crisply and stuck it in his breast pocket. 'Right, Eve Smith. I want you in the library, right after school. No slacking!'
And he was gone.
'But sir-' Eve called desperatley to the empty corridor.