He wasn't sure why he stood there waiting. He knew that he was supposed to just go in, find someone and let them know he'd arrived and take it from there. The problem was, he'd never had to do this before. He's never gone to a school that he hadn't known anyone. Even when he first started his first school, kids from where he lived went to it.
But standing in this hallway, part way through his education at one school and then shipped off to another. All because of a stupid accident.
"It'll be alright," his father said, a good way taller than his son, which showed how much he really had to grow yet, or at least he hoped. "It will be fine."
And so here he was, stood in what looked like a hotel lobby, but it was probably some elite, snobby, rich kid school. He wasn't even sure what he was really doing here. Stupid girl.
"When you're ready," said his father's reasonable tone in his ears, an echo of part of the last conversation they had had, less than an hour before, when his father had dropped him outside.
He hadn't wanted a fuss, the tears his mother would shed. He was glad that he got to say the goodbyes to her and his siblings at the house. His brother, too young to fully understand, had waved him off like he was going to school. His sister had been grumpy and angry, then sad, then clingy. The hours before he left she'd sat in his room while his mother packed his things.
His father was the only one who was to make the journey with him. He was glad of this. He and his father were close, but in that way where conversation isn't needed. The journey was filled with music and mellow voices from the radio. Their last conversation had happened when the pulled up at the location of the school.
"If you need anything," his father started with, breaking the silence.
"I know," he replied, his eyes still taking in the view.
There was stillness, the kind that fills with so many things.
"It'll be fine," his father had said, and looking back he wasn't sure if this was to reassure him or his father. "I will be fine."
Another space of time passed, longer than the last, where man and boy sat in a car for what felt like would be the last time.
"When you're ready," his father said at last, pulling him from his reverie.
They'd both gotten out of the car and his father had lifted the case from the boot, extending the handle and placing it on the floor. He'd told his father he'd be fine and plastered his best "care-free" grin on his face. His father had smiled back, but he could see it was hard on the old man. Make it easier, go with no fuss.
So he'd hugged him and then walked confidently into the building, pausing only to turn and give his father the most enthusiastic wave he could.
"I'll be back in the holidays!" he called, unsure if this was true, and then headed into the building.
But now he was alone, he didn't know what he was supposed to do.
He looked around, taking careful steps, to see if there was anyone who could help him.
The problem was, he'd never had to do this before. He's never gone to a school that he hadn't known anyone. Even when he first started his first school, kids from where he lived went to it.
But standing in this hallway, part way through his education at one school and then shipped off to another. All because of a stupid accident.
"It'll be alright," his father said, a good way taller than his son, which showed how much he really had to grow yet, or at least he hoped. "It will be fine."
And so here he was, stood in what looked like a hotel lobby, but it was probably some elite, snobby, rich kid school. He wasn't even sure what he was really doing here. Stupid girl.
"When you're ready," said his father's reasonable tone in his ears, an echo of part of the last conversation they had had, less than an hour before, when his father had dropped him outside.
He hadn't wanted a fuss, the tears his mother would shed. He was glad that he got to say the goodbyes to her and his siblings at the house. His brother, too young to fully understand, had waved him off like he was going to school. His sister had been grumpy and angry, then sad, then clingy. The hours before he left she'd sat in his room while his mother packed his things.
His father was the only one who was to make the journey with him. He was glad of this. He and his father were close, but in that way where conversation isn't needed. The journey was filled with music and mellow voices from the radio. Their last conversation had happened when the pulled up at the location of the school.
"If you need anything," his father started with, breaking the silence.
"I know," he replied, his eyes still taking in the view.
There was stillness, the kind that fills with so many things.
"It'll be fine," his father had said, and looking back he wasn't sure if this was to reassure him or his father. "I will be fine."
Another space of time passed, longer than the last, where man and boy sat in a car for what felt like would be the last time.
"When you're ready," his father said at last, pulling him from his reverie.
They'd both gotten out of the car and his father had lifted the case from the boot, extending the handle and placing it on the floor. He'd told his father he'd be fine and plastered his best "care-free" grin on his face. His father had smiled back, but he could see it was hard on the old man. Make it easier, go with no fuss.
So he'd hugged him and then walked confidently into the building, pausing only to turn and give his father the most enthusiastic wave he could.
"I'll be back in the holidays!" he called, unsure if this was true, and then headed into the building.
But now he was alone, he didn't know what he was supposed to do.
He looked around, taking careful steps, to see if there was anyone who could help him.