Wednesday morning dawned, and with it the realisation that I would actually have to work out what to wear. Say what you will about the British school system, but at least they mandate what you have to wear for five days of the week. It makes mornings so much easier when all you have to do is put on your uniform.

As a result, it was seven in the morning when I wailed down the hall "Mooooooooooooom! What am I supposed to wear?"

"Clothing!" was the rather useless reply elicited.

I looked through the suitcases to find what I could wear. I then realised that if I had to wear actual clothing every day, I'd need to expand my repertoire. As it turns out, when you only need to choose your own clothing two days out of seven, you don't accumulate that many items of clothing. I pulled out a pair of jeans, and then opened my window and stuck my arms out to ascertain the temperature. It was sleeves weather. It was of course late October, which should have alerted me to the fact that it was bound to be somewhat chilly, but when you live in the desert, it's hot during the day and cold at night regardless of what season it is.

Having showered and gotten dressed, I went downstairs to make myself some tea. Tea is a marvellous invention. I was eating cereal when mom came downstairs to survey me before my first day of high school.

"Have fun. We've sent all of your transfer papers ahead, just go to the office at the start of the day and they'll sort you out."

"Thanks mom. I'll give you the rundown this afternoon."

"Don't talk to any strange boys. And don't campaign to be allowed to join the Football team. Just go with something gender appropriate."

I rolled my eyes. Mom lived with the perpetual fear that I'd get horribly injured. It was warranted, but still irritating.

"Better yet," she continued, "Join the marching band."

"I play cello."

"Orchestra then."

"I'll sort out sports first. Then I'll see about music."

"Just promise me no football."

I raised my eyebrows in a manner that said 'you know I'm going to regardless'.

She sighed and gave me a hug just as a car horn sounded outside.

"I'm off. I'll be fine." I said as I picked up my bag and headed out the door.

I exited the house to see a pickup truck which seemed quite familiar and had Colin behind the wheel.

"Is this the truck that used to be just sitting outside your house lacking most of its engine?"

"Yep. Brady and I fixed it up last summer when we got our permits."

"Awesome. Tell me, what's the football team like here?"

"Not likely to allow a girl to join." Answered Brady.

"Are you sure?"

"There's probably some rule forbidding it. And if there isn't, there will be soon enough."

"We'll see." This would be a nice challenge.

A few minutes later, we entered the parking lot. Colin and Brady then led me to the office. I was somewhat curious as to why everyone was giving me such a wide berth, but then I realised that it was probably because I was flanked by two giant muscly man-boys.

I entered the office and approached the desk. When the woman at the desk turned to me, I had barely identified myself when she handed me a timetable, locker number and combination.

I took the pieces of paper and turned around to see Colin and Brady exchanging a markedly significant look regarding something or someone outside. I brushed it off. We hadn't seen each other for four years; things were bound to have changed. We were still getting along well, so I wasn't about to complain about how things were going. As far as I knew, it was secret men's business.

We entered one of the buildings, and I was taken back by the sheer numbers of lockers. Having attended a boarding school, lockers weren't really necessary. Colin and Brady left me at my locker and continued on to theirs, leaving me to try to open my locker. It wouldn't. I put the combination in about four times before I tried resorting to brute force. That too failed.

I was interrupted in the middle of my rant of low level curses and obscenities as I tried to jerk the door open – I think somewhere around 'evil sodding obnoxious horrible blasted piece of demon excrement' when a voice next to me enquired if I needed any help. Somewhat frustrated, not to mention slightly upset that things weren't working so early in the morning; I stepped aside and indicated the door of the instrument of satan which had been assigned to me.

The body attached to the voice was an incredibly tall and unbelievably muscular one. He gave the door a few tugs before he leaned down to look at the dial.

"You put in your combination?"

"The one I was given."

"Take a look here – there's a groove at zero on the dial: it's a design feature. On yours, the groove's aligned with the ten. The previous guy to use it must have changed it. Try adding ten to each of the numbers."

I did, and it worked. "Thanks." I grinned, and finally got a look at the face of the guy who had helped me. Not at all bad looking. "I'm Jimmy."

"Seth. Leah told me you'd just moved back."

"Oh, right. I remember you. You've grown. A lot." He'd be a senior by now.

"So have you. The last time I saw you, I don't think you were even close to five feet."

"What can I say? Four years is a while." I paused for a moment. "Am I meant to put my books in here…what is the function of this torture device?"

"You put your books in it. There's a ten minute break between each lesson so that you can go back to your locker and such. Surely that's the same everywhere."

"Not really. I was at the British school. Classes were immediately after one another. We just carried our books around with us. We definitely didn't have these." I indicated my locker which once opened turned out to be internally decorated by a Marilyn Manson and Slipknot fan. I'd have to work on that.

"You do have a bit of a British accent."

I snorted. "According to them, I had the strongest American accent they had ever heard." A bell rang. "What does that mean?"

"It means it's time to go to class. What do you have?"

I looked at my timetable. "AH in E14. Is that Ancient History?"

"American. Do you know where E14 is?"

"I didn't know what a locker was for. Do you really think I know my way around here?"

"Point taken. I've got class near there; I'll show you where it is."

"Thanks. I was just about ready to try kicking down the door. Then I probably would have burst into tears. I don't tend to deal well with inanimate objects beating me."

"Well we can't have that. Come on. This way."

I followed. "Tell me, Seth. How am I meant to address the teachers?"

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Not in the slightest. At my last school, teachers were referred to as Sir or Miss in accordance with their gender."

"Wow. Just use their name. For example, you've got Mr Hale for American history. You'd just refer to him thus."

I nodded. That was simple enough. We arrived at a classroom with E14 emblazoned above it. "Thanks for showing me how to get here."

"No problem. See you around."

I walked into the classroom.

"Are you lost?" asked the teacher.

"I'm James Carter. I'm the new student."

"Of course." He said. "With a name like James, I had expected a boy."

"I get that a lot. Also, I prefer to go by the name of Jimmy."

"Jimmy Carter. Good god."

My name tended to elicit that kind of reaction. I suppose that was to be expected.

"Everyone…Oi! Class has begun." The background noise subsided somewhat. "Where is there an empty desk?"

Everyone pointed towards a table in the middle of the classroom.

I made for the desk and got out a notebook and a pencil case. It wasn't long before I realised that I had glaring holes in my assumed knowledge. Past sixth grade standard, I knew nothing about American history. I could answer questions using my knowledge of international history, but I'd really need to get up to scratch. I was basically just lacking facts.

At least while I was in class I wasn't getting lost. The bell rang, and almost on autopilot, I got up and went to the door, but the moment I exited the classroom I had no idea where I was meant to be going. I stood there in mild disorientation before Seth appeared and enquired as to whether I was lost.

I told him that I was, and hopelessly so. On the way back, he pointed out landmarks I could use to remember the route. Which helped. Once back at my locker, I opened it successfully and looked at my timetable. I had world history in room E12. It was, as I had guessed, down the hall from E14. Thankfully.

I had opted to do more history as opposed to Home Ec. The whole premise of the subject was distasteful to me. And there was no way in hell mom would have let me take woodwork, auto or metalwork. So I made do.

World history was far better than US history. Here, I knew the assumed knowledge and then some, as in the British school system, history was always world history, and merely either Ancient or Modern history. The looks of surprise on the teachers faces when they realised that James Carter was in fact a girl, and one who preferred to go as Jimmy continued.

As did they in gym. As it turned out, the gym was the great big building that looked like a gym. Luckily for me, it was the lesson in which we were merely explained the fundamentals of (I kid you not) badminton. This was ridiculous. Back in Qatar, school sport had consisted of netball at the easiest. Badminton in my opinion didn't even qualify as a sport. But that was my opinion.

At the end of the lesson, Coach Smith happened to remark "And boys, as you know, I'm holding trials for the football team on Friday. If you're interested, see me once the lesson finishes."

Lo, the bell sounded and I immediately made my way over to Coach Smith along with three other boys. Coach smith took one look at me and pointed out that unless I was a boy interested in trying for the football team, we had nothing to talk about.

I responded with the fact that whilst I couldn't do anything about my gender, I had been a fairly gun rugby player. As it turned out, since my school had been the only one in Qatar with a Rugby team, we became by default the under 19 Qatar rugby team. I left out the fact that it was by default.

He looked at me with slightly more respect. "What did you play?"

"Hooker." It was the position I generally played, because it called for someone who was able to dodge around defenders. "Occasionally five-eighths." Ditto.

"I see." Clearly Coach Smith wasn't well versed in ruggers terminology.

"The person slightly behind the halfbacks who is actually an attacker and who, should the ball get behind the halfbacks, promptly gets the ball and runs it out to the try line."

Coach Smith was lost in thought for a moment. He then said "Come along to trials on Friday and I'll see how you go."

I thanked him for the consideration and made my way to my locker again. That hadn't been nearly as hard as everyone had made it out to be. I was fairly sure I'd be fine when it came to the actual football. The presence of a girl was bound to throw those who would generally be the ones doing the tackling.

From there I went to the cafeteria where I had said I would meet up with Colin and Brady to discuss the day so far. I sat down with my sandwich at a table taken up by Colin, Brady and Seth. They were deep in conversation when I walked up, with enough food to feed a small mercenary brigade, but the moment I entered earshot they immediately broke off their conversation. The moment was awkward for a moment, until Brady took the initiative and said "Jimmy, this is Seth."

"We've met." We said at the same time.

"Our lockers are next to each other." I elaborated.

Colin and Brady exchanged yet another significant look. I raised my eyebrows at them for a moment.

"So, how's your first day of high school been?" asked Colin.

"Not too bad, I must say. I'm going to have to work really hard to get up to speed on US history, but otherwise, everything's been great. But they can't seriously consider badminton to be a sport."

"They don't." replied Colin. "They have to pander to the lowest common denominator of co-ordination."

"Huh. And I totally just got approval to try for the football team." I let a note of gloating enter my voice. "It actually wasn't that hard."

"What did you do? Hypnotise him?" Brady was amazed.

"I gave my ruggers credentials."

"Which are…" Brady was still amazed.

"Rugby is a very British sport. My school was the only one in Qatar to have a team. Thus by default, we were the national school-age team. I just left out the default bit when I explained my past experience."

"Nice." Colin was impressed. "I still don't reckon you could kick my ass."

"You want to try me? Turn up to trials."

"There's no point. Seth here was on the team for a while, but everyone kept testing him for 'roids."

"Sissy."

"You wouldn't have a hope."

"Oh yeah? I could roll you when we were twelve, and I've learned a hell of a lot since then."

"So have I." responded Colin somewhat enigmatically.

"Watch the trials on Friday. Then tell me what you think."

"Done."

"Are you sure that's the best thing for you?" asked Seth, the first time he'd spoken in a few minutes. "They're a fiercely misogynistic bunch, and there's more than one who might try to seriously injure you to make a point."

I was somewhat taken back. "Like what?"

"Girls shouldn't play football."

"Is that your opinion or theirs?"

"Theirs. I'm fine with it – girls tend to be better at strategy. But seriously. Football is brutal. So are they. And if they think their football is threatened…" he trailed off.

"Rugby's brutal too. And we don't wear padding. I'll be fine. If nothing else works, a well placed knee can do wonders."

"Well. That's something I have to see."

"Feel free."

"Just look out for the linebackers. They don't like their football to change. You are definitely a change."

"I'll keep that in mind. But seriously. You have no idea how much practice I have tackling boys."

Colin and Brady both coughed something which sounded suspiciously like 'Tom'.

"You guys are such tools."

"Forever at your service."

"Who's Tom?" enquired Seth.

By then, the conversation had turned into a tennis match with Colin and Brady turning to look at each of our expressions as we talked. It was a touch disconcerting.

"He was my boyfriend at school. He moved back to England about the same time I came back here. It wasn't anything major; it's just the whole long distance thing seemed a bit difficult."

"And how does that make you feel?" asked Colin in a voice I remembered all too well.

"Brady, you promised me that you'd stop him from watching Dr Phil!"

"I try, I really do. He just keeps managing."

"Seriously, Colin. It's weird."

"Thankyou, Seth. See: he's on my side."

Yet another significant look. These were getting to be worryingly ubiquitous.

French was way too easy. It was infantile in comparison to what I'd been taught in Qatar, and what I used for correspondence with Anne-Sophie. I expressed this sentiment to the teacher whose name I had forgotten almost immediately. She gave me part of the written section of an old SAT paper. I did it in five minutes. She took one look at what I'd written and sent me to the classroom next-door where senior French was taking place, along with a note saying that I was well above standard, and she wasn't going to waste my time by keeping me in the junior class. She also sent me with the SAT paper, upon which she had written 'five minutes'.

The senior teacher was impressed as well. I was told to take a seat. The only one available happened to be next to Seth. This class was also rather easy. Thus I wasn't really concentrating. This meant that I noticed the fact that Seth kept glancing at me. I assumed he was somewhat confused as to what I was doing in his class.

Once the class was over, he leaned over and asked what was happening with my French. I explained that when your dorm buddy is French, you pick things up.

"So you're going to do SAT French this year I assume?"

"I wouldn't have a clue. All I know is that junior French was killing me."

"You were in there for fifteen minutes. Twenty tops."

"Imagine what a full lesson might have done."

"So you're very good at French then?"

"I have experience the rest of my classmates were sorely lacking."

"Would you mind helping me revise for the surprise speaking exam everyone knows he has planned for tomorrow?"

"Sure thing. Tell me, how are you at American history."

"Better than I am at French, that's for sure."

"I just need to learn the basics of everything taught after about the sixth grade."

"That I can do. Your place or mine?"

"Mom and Steve are bound to be at home unpacking. I don't think they'll be too thrilled about me bringing home random guys."

"I'm hardly some random. We were on that soccer team when we were in elementary school."

"Don't remind me. That was a painful experience."

"The trampling was unfortunate."

"Yeah. Broke my arm pretty horribly. And then I rebroke it two years ago in a scrum accident."

"Scrum accident?"

We'd arrived at our lockers, and so after opening the door to mine, I pushed up my left sleeve to show the scarring. It was extensive.

"What happened?"

"We were in a scrum. Harrow was on a rugby tour, and they were delayed returning to England because of weather. They were only in Qatar on a stopover, but there was some pretty shit weather going down and planes were going to be grounded for about a week. So they played a few games against us while they were in the country. We were in a scrum, and I was hit in the head by someone's elbow. I was knocked out just as the scrum broke up. One of their centres trod on my arm, and his cleats shredded me up real good. I was lucky they were able to get it closed without skin grafts."

"And you still think football's a good idea."

"No scrums."

"Come on. My truck's in the parking lot. Does your arm still work as well as it used to?"

"There wasn't any muscle damage. It gets painful right before there's going to be a sandstorm, but I doubt that's going to be an issue now."

"No shit."

I excused myself for a moment and ran over to Colin and Brady to explain the chain of events. As I turned away from them, I could have sworn I saw another significant look.