"Ugh. Mom. I don't want to go to school." I grumbled, pressing my nose up against the cool car window.
"Well, you're going." My mom answered back, looking at me through the rearview mirror, a serious expression plastered on her face.
"Yeah, but what if they make fun of me? I mean, half of them will all be American, and I'm this weird British kid who starts half way through term or semester or whatever they call it!"
"Artie, don't stress. I'm sure most of them are very nice. I spoke to your principal, and he is assigning a student to show you around school!"
"Yeah, and they'll probably shove me into a toilet stall and dunk my head in the toilet." I sighed, running a hand through my messy blond hair, which I never seemed able to tame.
My mom just didn't answer, and concentrated on driving.
We'd moved to America about two weeks ago, from England. I lived with my mom and my older sister Alice, who was applying for colleges now. So far, I hated it here. It was so similar, yet so different to my life back home. Everything was bigger, and almost scarier than what it was back in England. None of my friends lived over here, and I was was worried I wasn't going to make any new friends here. I huffed, resting my head against the window.
A few minutes later, we pulled up at my new school, Westfield High. Well, there was something to remind me of home. I smiled a little, as I climbed out of the car, taking my bag from my mom, and kissing her on the cheek, saying goodbye. She wished me good luck, and then I headed off, up towards the school.
The moment I walked in the doors, I wished I'd never even thought about going inside. Hundreds of students pushed past me, too busy with their lives to worry about mine. I huffed, desperately slipping past them, trying to find my way to the principals office.
After a while, I found it. I knocked a few times, before I heard a 'come in'. I pushed the door open, and sat at his desk, was a relatively young man with short brown hair. He looked over his glasses at me, and smiled.
"Ah! You must be Arthur!" He said, in what must have been an Italian accent.
"Yes, sir, that's me." I replied. He motioned to a chair in front of his desk, and I sat down, quickly reading the name plaque that read 'Mr. Rome.' What an appropriate name for an Italain! I thought to myself.
"Well, Arthur, welcome to Westfield High! We are glad to have obtained a British student, as we have many other people from all over world!" He grinned. "You should look out for my nephews, Feliciano and Lovino." I mentally created a list of peoples names, Feliciano and Lovino being second and third on the list, after Mr. Rome.
"Here is your timetable..." He handed me a sheet of paper, that told me what lessons I have on what day. "And I will just call up your tour guide!" I nodded, as he spoke into what seemed to be a radio, asking to send up 'Alfred Jones'. I instantly assumed he was American, due to the Englishy sounding name.
I sat, speaking to Mr Rome for a few minutes, with him asking me a few questions about England and so on. I politely answered everyone of his questions, until there was a knock of the door, and Mr Rome replied to it with a 'come in'.
I turned around, my eyes instantly falling on the boy who had walked in.
He had sunny blond hair, with a peculiar cowlick. His blue eyes were big and shiny, framed by glasses, and what seemed to be a permanent Hollywood smile was fixed on his face. His skin was sun-tanned, and he was no shorter than 5'8 or so, making him a good four inches taller than me.
He walked into the room, reaching out his hand for me to shake. "Alfred. Alfred Jones!" He said, rather loudly for just the three of us in the room.
I felt myself smiling back at him a little, and took his hand in mine, and shook it. "Arthur Kirkland." I replied.
That was when I realized it.
Staying in America might not be so bad after all.
Westfield- there are a few shopping malls around London (maybe around England/Britain as well) called 'Westfield Shopping Centre'. This is how it reminds Arthur of home.
