-I-
                                                                         Butterflies

      Tabitha Walker had never been so nervous.

      It was a clear, frosty Monday morning in the month of November, and the Stagecoach scheduled to pick her up from her solitary position was already ten minutes late. The fifteen year-old shivered against the hard brick of the bus shelter wall, striped hood her only barrier against the biting breeze that blew in from the open front. Each moment that passed felt like an age, arriving and leaving slowly in a run-down, rattling manner; yet this served to both quell and irritate her growing fear. On one hand, she definitely did not - in any way whatsoever - wish to face the day ahead; praying desperately for time to decelerate further. Yet she also knew she couldn’t avoid this fate that had been chosen for her - it was set in stone now, and she wondered why the inevitable couldn’t just go right ahead and put her out of her misery.
      Tabby sighed, breath mushrooming out before fading into the cold morning air, and began studying the black baseball boots she'd been given by her father as a goodbye present before the difficult move. They were already scuffed and muddy even after just a few days' worth of wear; but considering they enveloped her chilly feet wherever she went now, this was hardly surprising. She'd quickly grown bored of the plain white laces and opted for bright pink in the right, orange in the left. She grinned down at them now and they seemed to smile back, a heart drawn in ballpoint pen on one of the once-white toes.
      Low laughter met her frostbitten ears and she glanced up sharply. A group of older boys stood gathered around a lamp post on the pavement outside, hoods pulled up over baseball caps to hide their faces as they conversed together; heads bowed, torn tracksuit hems dragging on the icy ground. A thin plume of smoke shivered above their heads. Tabby wrinkled her nose at the bedraggled smokers as the stink of tobacco drifted towards her, but continued to watch them out of the corner of her eye as it seemed they would be catching the same bus.
      Her stomach churned uncomfortably as she considered where the late tin-on-wheels would lead her. It would all be so new, so strange; so different from what she was used to. Why did this have to happen? she demanded of the cruel morning air; already well aware of, yet still denying, the answer. There had to be some explanation that was slightly saner than the truth, surely - which she had been constantly attempting to push away even as she had unpacked her belongings in her new room the previous week, taken a first, very spidery shower in the grimy bathroom and forced down breakfast in the cramped little kitchen that morning. And still reality sat there, growling at her from its mental cage; not forgotten, just ignored. But for how long?
      The uniform was itchy. Tabby tentatively scratched her arms through her hooded jacket, hoping the boys wouldn’t see and presume she had fleas. Although most people on this estate probably do, she grinned to herself ironically, peering back down the road from which she had reluctantly emerged earlier. It was the seediest housing complex she had ever set eyes upon - let alone been forced to live in. The community dumpsters overflowed with used diapers and binbags filled with all sorts of disgusting household waste; and what didn’t fit inside was left to decompose on the ground, gusts of wind blowing the reeking mess into gardens where small children played, often unattended. Babies’ piercing cries and the snarling barks of neglected dogs tore through the air until well past midnight on a regular basis, and discarded syringes littered the ground beneath the unkempt hedgerows that divided one small patch of garden from the next. Several plastic bags skittered across the road even as she watched, the harsh breeze whipping multicoloured strands of hair around her face and stinging her eyes.

      As she blinked away the pain, flickers of her old life danced tauntingly behind her eyelids. Their beautiful countryside cottage, with its rolling acre of garden, warm crackling fire and easy access to modern facilities via the punctual village bus service, was all she longed for at this moment; the long ‘baa’s of sheep from the local farm that had disturbed her Sunday morning lie-ins seemed so trivial a problem now.
      This was the first time she had dared to venture outside the estate in the week they had lived there; not counting the times she snuck out over the back fence while her mother went out job-hunting. The fields were bliss; albeit a rather muddy bliss. She could sit and sketch there for hours as she did back at home, pretending they had never left. The trees were her trees, the clouds were her clouds, the quiet was her quiet. But it was never long before a scream or canine howl ripped through her daydream and snapped her back to reality. She was stuck here. For good. And there was nothing she could do about it.

    The low rumble of an engine made her jump and, slinging her schoolbag over one shoulder, she turned to find the late Stagecoach crawling up the hill through the freezing mist. Tabby stepped almost automatically to the edge of the pavement, waiting anxiously with her back to the whispering boys while the little bus juddered to a halt; catching a quick glimpse of her reflection in the clouded doors before they jerked open. She was pale as death itself.
      "Mornin'," grinned the plump, red-faced driver in a heavy local accent as Tabby clambered clumsily aboard. She smiled back nervously – handing him her money for the ticket and fervently praying she had the right amount. While waiting for the coughing little machine to spit out her pass for the day, she raised her head and gazed cautiously down the aisle of seats - finding, to her surprise, every eye upon her.
      Students sat rigid on all sides, characterised in an almost regimented way by their identical maroon uniforms. They eyed her blonde hair reproachfully, layered underneath with black and streaked with bright colours on top. They craned their necks to glimpse at her colourful eye make-up. They stared shamelessly at her mismatched laces and black-and-white jacket; whispering to each other, their faces unfamiliar. The final realisation that she was absolutely alone, without the comfort of a friend to sit next to, hit Tabby hard in the stomach and flooded her face a burning crimson.
      Swallowing the lump in her throat, she shakily took the ticket from the driver and made her way down the aisle, desperately avoiding visual contact with anyone. Her lone movements were amplified as her feet shuffled on the shuddering, dusty floor, eyes averting themselves from the alien students. Not one of them blinked or shifted an inch. They just stared.
      After what felt like an entire era, Tabby slouched gratefully into the first vacant double seat she found, flicking away an old lump of yellowing chewing gum. Dumping her bag next to her and releasing a long, quiet breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, she pressed in the earbuds of her well-used mp3 player and cranked the volume right up, heart beating rapidly in time with the wild drumbeats that blasted into her anxious mind. Wiping away a patch of condensation with one sleeve, she gazed intently out of the filthy window onto the moving world as the interior swayed and shuddered around her - frost on the verge glittering in the weak light of the winter sun as the ancient bus spluttered slowly along the road to her new life.

      She gradually began to build a mental picture of the forgotten little town as they picked up more faceless maroon students several times along the journey. The first stop came outside the church; an ancient stone building surrounded by an uneven expanse of graveyard, with the tall spire a cracked mosaic of local grey slate. A set of young triplets dressed in identical coats and with matching bags got on here and joined their friends near the front. The bus next rounded a corner and rattled past an old pub called The Blackthorn Rose; its weathered wooden sign, depicting a peeling image of a dark rose with a thorned stem splattered with suspicious-looking red, swinging slightly on rusty hinges. Tabby didn’t notice any more turnings to rundown estates like her own, however - instead, as they neared the centre, rows of fairly well-kept Victorian terraced houses lined the street; the occasional windowbox of winter pansies adding small splashes of colour to the blurred view. Trust our luck to mean we can only afford to live in the rough part of town...
      Shuddering to a stop in the town centre, she could see only a Pharmacy and Post Office side-by-side with a grotty, derelict phone box decaying next to the stone wall - and she felt a shiver prickle the back of her neck as she imagined standing there in amongst the spinning spiders and creeping ivy. Hurriedly abandoning her visual exploration, she turned her attention to the loud music in her ears; making an assured judgement that the town of Blackthorn was decidedly outdated.

      Her nervousness mounted when, far too soon, they clattered through a tall, wrought iron gate and veered dangerously into a line behind other battered vehicles. The Stagecoach gave a final jolt and lay still beneath her. Pulling the earphones out quickly, she stuffed the player into her bag - noting uneasily the stifling silence pressing in as the other students shuffled past. She followed them slowly off the bus into the frosty grounds, freezing wind immediately biting her sharply on the nose - and caught a first glimpse of her new school.
      It was anything but new. The huge, grey Victorian building loomed over her darkly, complete with creepy bell tower and stark, pointed roofs. A few crows sat gloomily upon them, their beady eyes raking the lawns below where a thousand maroon-coloured students milled in the shadow of their sprawling old perch. The slate they sat upon, identical to that on the church spire, was cracked in places; and some areas needed replacing completely. Several windows were boarded up with stained plywood - clearly where they had been smashed and never repaired.
      Tabby’s heart sank into her shoes. Her old school had been modern and slick, with brand new exterior, classrooms and facilities. Compared to what she was used to, Blackthorn School was a dull old dump – aside from its sweeping grounds and arboretum. In strong contrast to the school itself, these were well-kept and trimmed; the grass crisp, mown in painstakingly-neat lines under its frosty dew blanket, with majestic evergreens dotted at intervals. The gardener clearly took pride in his work, even if the caretaker didn’t.
      Tabby sighed and began to trudge in the direction most other students seemed to be heading; she had caught the attention of the watchful crows among the droves of reddish-brown and wanted to move on, although she had no idea where to go. She had been given no map, no directions… Her eyes frantically swept her surroundings, desperately searching for some kind of signpost or door that looked like it might lead to reception - but nothing helpful stood out in the early-morning rush. There was no teacher or assistant on hand to tell her where to go - But why should there be? she thought, heart racing. I’m the only new girl…
      She continued to follow the crowd, insides squirming with fear. Hushed voices sounded from behind her, and she felt her cheeks burn as snippets of the whispered conversation met her cold ears.
      “What is up with her hair?”
      “Her jacket is so blinding, my eyes hurt!”
      Stifled giggles.
      “Seriously… what a freak. What’s she doing here?”
The corners of Tabby’s eyes began to sting, and she blinked rapidly. She had never been one to take much notice of hurtful comments - but as the loneliness became stifling in the sea of maroon, her emotions heightened and she felt their words stab deep. Panic began to throb in her temples as the wave pushed her along the icy ground, eyes darting around in vain desire for some form of safe escape.

      A sudden voice from beyond the noisy throng stopped her in her tracks. Several others also paused and spun around to see a boy with floppy blond hair jogging towards them, his expensively-sneakered feet crunching on the frosted grass. One of the girls that had been whispering behind Tabby began twisting her bleached blonde hair around a neatly-manicured forefinger. Tabby curled her own bitten black-painted stubs into embarrassed fists as the boy strolled closer.
      He was unbelievably good-looking; each strand of light hair catching the early sun as he neared, breeze barely stirring the style. He was visibly toned under his white shirt, wooden bead necklace bringing out his slight remaining tan from the summer months. He walked with an almost effortless air of confidence, yet with a slightly shy smile playing about his lips. And his eyes… Tabby violently jumped and felt scalding blood rush to her face.
      They were fixed directly upon her own.
      "Hey," he smiled, sauntering to a halt right in front of her and casting his blue gaze over her frozen figure. The surrounding girls too seemed to become paralysed, scandalised expressions adorning their faces.
      He was somewhat taller than her but not in the least bit intimidating – his stance was friendly, and he waved the gawking girls away with one playful hand. The tall blonde narrowed her eyes at Tabby and stalked off; powdered little nose held high in the air.
      "You look like a lost kitten," he remarked, and she returned his smile shyly. His voice was the consistency of warm honey in the chilly November air.
      "That's a coincidence," she replied, voice quavering slightly with timidity and hating the sound of it. She cleared her throat nervously. "My name's Tabby. I'm new, I just transferred schools." He studied her anxious face, still smiling his sumptuous smile.
      "Tabby the lost kitten," he laughed. "I'm Andy. The Head gave me orders to look for a girl with crazy hair… looks like my guess wasn’t too far off. So here I am, I guess–” he gestured to himself “–your own personal Sixth Form tourguide!"
      Realisation dawned on Tabby, eyeing the shirt and jeans on his lean, muscular body as they shook hands awkwardly; Sixth Formers didn’t have to wear uniform. She mentally rolled her eyes at the description her mother had given the school of her appearance.
     He looked her up and down at the same time, and tutted. "You might get told off for those."
      She followed his gaze from her stripy jacket to her black drainpipes, and smirked.
      "Are they really strict on uniform here?"
      "Sometimes, but I'm sure you'll get away with it." He winked one of his blue eyes at her and she felt herself blushing pink yet again. "Want me to show you to reception?"
      "Sure, sounds cool." She tried to come across as relaxed as her words, hoping fervently he couldn’t tell that she was rapidly turning to jelly under his watch.

      He led her in the opposite direction to the steadily moving crowd and she felt another wave of embarrassment; she’d been heading completely the wrong way. His stride was long and it took three of her small ones to stay in step with him, so that she had to almost jog to keep up. He turned around and noticed this, slowing down. Tabby dragged her eyes away from his denim-clad backside and smiled up at him gratefully. He’s so thoughtful…

      "Okay, this is reception." They had reached the other end of the school, where a huge stone plaque above the grand old entrance read ‘Blackthorn School of Secondary and Sixth Form Education’ in aged, lichen-spattered lettering. Andy held open one of the weathered wooden double doors as Tabby stepped cautiously inside, before following her into the dingy lobby. Her nose wrinkled at the musty smell that seeped from the dirty brown carpet and panelled walls, eyeing the peeling posters that failed to brighten the gloomy, high-ceilinged room. Andy spotted the look on her face and laughed.
      "Yeah, it smells. They haven't decorated this place since the eighteen hundreds! But you'll get used to it." He winked again, and Tabby pretended to immerse her interest in a rusty rack of drooping leaflets in order to hide her pink cheeks. Smiling slightly to herself, she was aware of Andy leaning back lazily against the reception desk before jumping a mile.
      "Yes?"
      She saw him spin round to face the ancient, spectacled receptionist; who looked at him questioningly down her pointed, beaky nose.
      "Oh, hello - I, um..." he beckoned Tabby over and she joined him at the desk nervously. “This is Tabby, she's new - could you possibly find us her tutor group?"
      "Full name?"
      Tabby flinched slightly as the sharp grey eyes pierced into her.
      "Um... Tabitha Walker."
      "Year?"
      "Eleven..."
      The receptionist began tapping frantically away at her computer - the first sign of modern technology around here, Tabby thought to herself with a grin - then looked up at them both through her horn-rimmed spectacles, expression hard and businesslike.
      "You're in 11D, room G19. Adam, will you lead her to it?"
      "Andy," he corrected her patiently, obviously used to this mistake of hers.
      "Yes, yes, Ashley. Now go, I've got important records to update, and I don't want any loitering teenagers disturbing my job." She shooed them away with both hands, lips pursed and lenses glinting.
      “Yes, ma’am,” Andy replied with a small salute and cheeky lopsided smile before marching them both out of the door.

      Tabby waited until they were well clear of reception before revealing her smirk.
      “Wow, what a lovely old woman,” she laughed, feeling herself relax slightly as Andy leaned against the rich brown trunk of one of the emerald, sweet-smelling pines outside. He grinned as she joined him under the tree.
      "She's a right grouch," he said. "At Christmas, when the rest of the staff put up decorations, she goes around pulling them all down. Everyone calls her Mrs. Scrooge. I bet you anything it’ll be the same this year."
      Tabby looked up at him, still laughing, and their eyes met. His gaze seemed to silence her and she stood enthralled, feeling the blood in her cheeks reach boiling point even in the bitingly cold air. She gazed at the way each blond strand of hair gleamed as it fell slowly over his eyes, his head cocked forward; the faded brown freckles on his nose; his defined, masculine cheekbones...
      "Your eyes are pink," he said suddenly in a puzzled tone, snapping her out of the reverie.
      "Wha- oh, yeah," she grinned at his confusion. "They’re contacts."
      "They're awesome, that's what they are," he smiled back, seeming impressed, before straightening up. "C'mon, I'll show you more of the school before registration - we've still got a few minutes."

      She thoroughly enjoyed his company as he commenced their morning tour of the various departments - the sports hall with its smelly changing rooms and broken showers; the drama hall, complete with torn curtain and smashed spotlights; the music room's numerous damaged instruments. Every building they passed was shabby and in desperate need of renovating, and Tabby found herself longing for the plush classrooms and fully-kitted-out leisure centre back at her old school. Somehow, though, she found herself feeling bubblier than usual; giggling in a way she never did, biting her lip - even playing with her hair, extremely aware of the permanent flush across her cheeks as they talked. What in the world is he doing to me? she thought, a turquoise strand wrapped around one forefinger. An image of the bleached blonde flashed into her mind and she dropped the hair immediately, feeling foolish.
Suddenly, a shrill, rusted metallic noise rang through the grounds - shaking the buildings free of dust and flaky paint.
      "And here we are, right on time." Andy sounded slightly disappointed as he slowed them to a halt outside one of the run-down Portakabins used as makeshift classrooms.
      "Is this my tutor room?" Tabby eyed the dirt-stained, beige walls and dark, dusty windows reproachfully, the cracked wooden plaque above the door proclaiming "G19" in faded white lettering.
      "Yup," Andy looked sympathetic as she felt her heart sink. "Don’t worry; you're only in there for registration. The rest of the school's not much better," he admitted, clearly noticing her expression and grinning, "But I reckon you'll bring a lot of colour to this drab place. You're something different."
      Tabby laughed and studied her shoes intently. "In a good way, I hope."
      "Of course," he replied, draping his arm casually around her shoulders as they walked together to the door of G19. Her stomach gave an intense lurch, heart suddenly racing. "Meet me here at break, yeah? You don't wanna get lost on your own around here, trust me."
      Tabby noted something of a solemn note in his words, but chose to ignore it through her butterflies.
      "Heh, okay. See you later!"
      "Bye, Tabby."
      He flashed her one last smile before turning to walk away from her across the grey, misty yard. Maybe this place isn't so bad after all, she thought, watching the low cloud envelop his figure as she took a deep breath and disappeared inside the filthy Portakabin.